


Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts

by Kellyscams



Series: Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Blackmail, Bottom!Bucky, Canonical Character Death, Class Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forced Medication, Hospitalization, Illnesses, M/M, Mild S&M, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Switching, Terminal Illnesses, head of the household, in chapter 30, steampunk settings, the world is pretty unfair, top!steve, traditional marriage, uneven marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 354,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the House of Barnes is left in massive debt after the death of George Barnes, their oldest son and heir, Bucky, is forced to sacrifice his own hopes and dreams by entering an arranged married to Steve Rogers. Steve seems kind enough, has a prominent job in the government, and was even voted Society's Best Catch. But the House Rogers is significantly higher in status than Bucky's family, which means Bucky is marrying up in Society, and marrying up doesn't only come with rewards, it also comes with certain...expectations and losses--some of which Bucky might be willing to do <i>anything</i> to avoid. And those opportunities might come his way.</p><p>Unless, of course, he actually starts falling in love with his new husband...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One (yeah, that's creative)

**Author's Note:**

> tags will probably be added as the story goes on!
> 
> Also available in Spanish here: [Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4103848/chapters/9245839)

“Please don’t make me do this.”

Bucky’s voice is weak and shaky. It barely even fills the unwelcoming room. It’s a bad room, in his opinion. The walls are too dark, the carpet scratchy beneath his barefeet, and the lighting all wrong. But then, as far as Chapels go, this could be a lot worse.

His mother sighs as she rises from the seat at the vanity set hugging the wall furthest from him and comes over. Winifred Barnes is dressed in her finest for the occasion. Long, silky dress--colored champagne, the very drink Bucky will be drowning in tonight if things go according to his family’s wishes--a long slit up the left end, revealing her long, smooth leg. She must have taken great care in tightening her corset today, since her waist looks a tad bit smaller. 

“You must, James,” She tells him, for what seems to Bucky the millionth time since arriving at the Chapel. “Do you want to see your family homeless? Me working as a seamstress? Your sister thrown out of school?”  
“You know I don’t… that’s not…” Bucky can’t find the words. “It’s not fair.”  
“Your father left us a good name and a pile of debt.” She explains as though this fact hadn’t been drilled into his head since just days after his father passed--just a few months ago. “If you don’t marry this boy, then all of us suffer.”

A pain presses into his chest. She’s right. To alleviate his family’s suffering, it’s Bucky who needs to step up and do the sacrificing. Winifred cannot. She’s in mourning--the fact that she’s not in black is nothing more than her rebelling in her own way--and cannot accept any suitor until at least a year. It wouldn’t be proper, words would be said, rumors of scandal and an affair. The Barnes’ name would be dragged through the mud. 

Though she’s been persistent and unrelenting when it came to finding Bucky a spouse, right now, a flicker of sympathy passes through her eyes. She places her hands at the sides of his neck and kisses his cheek.

“You’re right,” She admits. “It _isn’t_ fair. But the world we live in is not always kind to those in it.”

His mother grazes her fingers over his left arm. It’s covered at the moment, the sleeve of his black shirt reaching his wrist, but his hand is still showing. Arm and hand made of metal. 

“I know.” Bucky whispers, pulling his arm behind his back.  
“And as far as suitors go, this doesn’t seem like a bad match.”

She’s right about that, too. The Rogers have a good name, they have a wallet to back it up, and, according to their public lives, they genuinely seem nice. The Lord and Lady Rogers both have a seat in Parliament as well--two very well known voices in the government. 

Steve Rogers, the only son and heir to their fortune and position, is to be his husband. In less than an hour. The idea still leaves Bucky dizzy and sick to his stomach. His husband. Steve Rogers. 

He’s a good looking fella, Steve Rogers is. Ever since his mother announced that the Rogers’ accepted their proposal for the marriage of their sons, Bucky had done as much research on the man as he could. Even just in pictures, he can tell he has deep as ocean blue eyes, smiles for the cameras like he means it, tufts of dark, golden hair that doesn’t always fall neatly on his head. Bucky has seen interviews with him--the man was chosen as Society’s Best Catch three years ago so there are plenty of interviews--and Steve Rogers seems nice enough. He’s uncomfortable in front of the cameras, Bucky’s sure of that, but he’s good natured about it, answering questions like it doesn’t bother him at all. In fact, Bucky’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone who _laughs_ so much. His husband-to-be comes off as a happy person, agreeable, and, well, _nice_ , just some of the reasons Society dubbed him as their Best Catch. It’s just...Bucky doesn’t...he…

“I don’t _know_ him.”

His mother is beginning to lose patience with him. He can tell by the way her mouth curls up, like her lips themselves are warning him to tread carefully. 

“You’ve met him twice already,” She says, as though that should be comforting. “That’s two times _more_ than I met your father.”

Bucky has no ground to stand on, other than the fact that he didn’t want to do this. It was still his choice. He could back out of it. But where would that leave him? Dismissed by his family for one. Out on the streets with nothing but a tarnished name. No one who was dismissed by their family was welcome in high regards in Society. It would also, and, Bucky wasn’t selfish enough not to accept that this was more important, it would leave his sister, his _sixteen_ -year-old sister, in his stead. 

That wasn’t something he’d ever allow to happen. He couldn’t picture Rebecca in here, the changing room of Society’s 107th Chapel, dressed all in white, veil over her face, being presented to a man she didn’t know to be her husband. Bucky would give her the chance he never really had. As the heir, the oldest born, an arranged marriage was almost always certainly in his future. After having one Barnes walk out on a marriage, the suitors wouldn’t be all that willing either. It would be much more difficult, and the pickings would be lesser than what Rebecca deserved. 

And he _had_ met Steve twice, as his mother so thoughtfully reminded him. Once, a month ago, when their engagement was announced and a second time at their rehearsal dinner--which was much more dinner than rehearsal--two days ago. They hadn’t said much to each other, not enough time, between speeches and waving for the cameras, but Steve was all smiles, as though he was happy with the idea of marrying Bucky. 

Really, why wouldn’t he be? The Rogers had a higher standing in Society than the Barnes, Bucky wasn’t sure exactly _how_ much, but any bit made a difference. Bucky was marrying up, and as such, certain… expectations would be required for him to fulfill. 

“Was it hard, Mom?” Bucky asks. 

It’s the first time he’s asked it. They’ve never discussed it before, but his mother understands. 

“It was…” Her eyes glance down to his silk vest and she runs her hands across it as though it was riding up, “different. Not… well… marrying up has it’s rewards, honey.”

That, Bucky already knows. Better opportunities, more glamour, even more respect, to name a few. But to gain all that…

“Dad was always good to you?” Bucky wonders, tugging slightly on his ear. 

Twenty-four years ago his mother was in a similar predicament and then had him a year later. She had been married off, not for quite the same reasons, just tradition and such, marrying up to his father, George. The light coming in through the one window dims. A cloud passing over the sun, perhaps. Or an omen. Bucky almost laughs out loud. 

“Yes, he was.” His mother goes over to where his suit jacket is still on the hanger. “It wasn’t a hard transition. I learned quickly.” She brings the jacket over and lays it across the ottoman next to Bucky. It’s ugly, the ottoman, and the suit deserves better. “You’ll _learn_ , Bucky. And, well, I’m sure Steve Rogers is a very understanding young man. He _is_ letting you keep your name.”

Not that unheard of, but also not very common. And Steve hadn’t objected to it at all. At least that gives him reason to hope. 

There’s a knock on the door, an interrupting sort of sound that startles Bucky enough to jump. Winifred stays him, placing a thin hand on his shoulder. 

“Yes?” She answers for him. 

The door opens slowly, hinges creaking as it does. Bucky can hear the hinges’ sympathy for him and all the others who had been in his situation. They must have heard so many soft cries in the hundreds of years they’ve been around. 

One of the Chapel’s prioresses sticks her head in. Bucky selfishly hopes that she’s there to tell him that Steve changed his mind. Maybe he’d have a chance after all. He could at least get to _know_ someone before having their marriage negotiated. But his foolish hope was for naught. 

“Lady Barnes, it’s time for you to greet the family.” The prioress reminds her. 

Winifred needs to go out there and welcome the Rogers, thank them for coming and for agreeing to take Bucky. Which meant Steve was here. 

The Rogers, as the accepting family, might be the host family in this little affair, but the Barnes are the transfers. A hefty sum, Steve’s dowry, was already deposited in the Barnes’ account. And, as per traditional negotiations, Steve would put an additional amount of money in their account for as long as they are married. It makes Bucky feel like an item for sale, which, in a way, is exactly what’s happening today. Steve Rogers was buying him. That’s not the way he’s supposed to see it, of course. The money is to help the family losing one member that can provide for them. With Bucky gone, that’s one less source of income. Steve’s money will make up for some of that. 

“I’ll be right there.” Winifred answers the prioress, who nods once and disappears again. She puts her hands on Bucky’s cheeks and for the first time since this whole things started, Bucky is sure that she truly, one hundred percent wishes that she could save him from this. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say so, and then changes her mind and instead says, “You can do this.”

Her encouragement doesn’t come out as meaningful as she probably hoped it would. Still, Bucky nods and then he’s alone, in a room that hates him as much as he hates it, about to be married to someone he doesn’t know. After sliding into his shoes, Bucky gently slips the black, suit jacket on. It conforms to his body like a hug, though the hug is empty and meaningless. 

Over at the vanity his mother had been sitting at, Bucky leans his hands on the top of it, glancing up at the mirror. The reflection barely looks like him. He needs to get ahold of himself. _You’ll be fine_ he tells himself. _This is how things have been done for years and years_ his mind says. _Society is not going to just change for your dreamy and romantic heart._

People of Society don’t marry for love, not usually. Still, it’d been Bucky’s dream to fall hopelessly love with someone, someone who made his stomach clench at the mere mention of their name, someone who looked at _him_ like he was the sun of their day. But it was a pipe dream, always had been. 

His hands are shaking as he reaches for the final touch for his tuxedo. The boutonniere. It’s a pink carnation--it’s supposed to represent gratitude. Steve will have a pink rose for appreciation. Bucky _does_ laugh out loud this time. He’s supposed to be thankful to Steve for accepting and Steve is supposed to appreciate Bucky for asking, all this summed up in the flowers pinned to their chests. 

For just one, insane second, Bucky thinks about crushing the flower with his left hand, thinks about the satisfaction of seeing the broken petals against the metal plates of his palm. 

_Not a good idea._ His hand reminds him, a whishing sound coming from it as the pieces move a bit like the muscles in his right hand.  
 _Who asked you?_ Bucky yells at it. 

He listens though. That would be regarded as an insult, and Bucky’s not about to insult the Rogers. So instead of crushing it, Bucky opens the glass case it’s in--a permanent fixture on the vanity, clear with a hinged top--and gently lifts it out. There’s something else in there, though. Bucky’s heart pounds when he sees the folded piece of paper with his name scrawled neatly across it, the handwriting oddly formal, yet graciously applied like a work of art. 

Before putting the boutonniere on, Bucky takes out the paper and unfolds it. His stomach flips, but the note slows his heart to a closer to normal beat.  
There’s a heart drawn on it, not just a scribble, but a heart with depth and shading and coloring. Underneath it, _I think we can be happy. Please don’t come out if you don’t agree. No hard feelings. -Steve_

Steve is giving him an out. Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, it gives Bucky new opportunity without insulting anyone--provided Steve is telling the truth about no hard feelings. If he, Steve, is the one who declares the marriage, or engagement as it currently is, over himself, then nothing will be held against Bucky or his family. On the other hand, tradition dictates that the dowry be refunded, and Bucky will be back to square one. Sure, there might be hopes of at least _attempting_ the start of some sort of relationship, but that doesn’t mean it will happen. Besides, the only person he’s ever considered marrying, is already promised to someone else. And she’s lucky enough to be friends with the guy. 

No. There’s no backing out of this. Bucky will march out those doors, head held high like Society demands and expects of him, and he will marry Steve Rogers. He can hear the organs starting up already, realizes that Steve’s note and offer has distracted him long enough that he needs to hurry and pin the stupid flower on and shove the message in his pocket. If someone finds it, it might look bad for Steve, and the gesture alone is enough for Bucky to not want to cause the man, his fiance, his almost husband, any problems. 

Bucky rushes out of the room that’s been trying to get him out since he stepped into it. Two prioresses are waiting for him right outside. They both look displeased with him for running late, even though neither had tried to fetch him. He stretches his lips in apology as they lead the way down the long, dimly lit corridor. They stop in front of two, thick wooden doors. They’re staring him down, mocking him. Behind them is his future. 

As Bucky stands there, holding his breath so that the trembling stops, he pats his pocket where Steve’s note is. It’s… strangely comforting, that promise Steve made to him, tucked away like a secret between them already. Bucky’s shaking stops, just as the doors open.

~~

“I’m nervous.” Steve admits. “Were you nervous?”  
His mother, Sarah, pats his thigh. “Yes. A little.”  
“But Dad courted you. And you two married even.”

While Sarah sits next to him, his father, Joseph, is across the room, nursing a glass of Scotch. He smiles at his son and then at his wife.

“We did court.” He agrees. “And then my family asked her family on my behalf for her hand in marriage. Negotiations went smoothly, and twenty-seven years later, we’re here for our son’s marriage.”  
“As for marrying even, yes, we did.” Sarah goes on. “But I’m sure he won’t give you any troubles.”  
“That’s not…” Steve clears his throat. “I’m not worried about that. We’ll work something out. It’s… what if he doesn’t like me?”  
Joseph lets out a hearty laugh. “Everyone likes you.”

Steve grins, a bit of a blush touching his cheeks, and lowers his chin. He glances around the room and grimaces. This is a mean room. It’s harsh and cruel to its occupants. Too dark, leaving little hope for anyone in here who might be unhappy. He hopes that James Barnes can find some hope in whatever room he’s in. 

This arrangement, both unexpected and sudden, wasn’t what either of them had anticipated. When his parents told him that the Barnes had contacted them about the possibility of Steve being a suitor to their son, he was shocked. The Barnes are a pretty notable family, and the head of the household, George Barnes, passed away a few months ago. It wasn’t hard to figure out why there was a sudden rush for Lady Barnes to find a suitor for her son. Money. They needed a dowry. 

All Steve could think about was someone taking advantage of the situation, of James--who went by Bucky--because of this. _Especially_ if he were to marry up. Someone could abuse him, could treat him poorly for any reason, just because Bucky needed to make the marriage work in order for his family to keep the dowry and the annual stipend. Bucky is marrying up, losing a large amount of authority over his own life because of it. 

Steve wouldn’t let that happen. It was wrong--and he knew that in Society it happened more often than anyone cared to admit--and given what Bucky had done for him years ago, he’d do what he could now to repay him. 

All in all, Steve is happy with the arrangement. Well, _okay_ , with it anyway. He is, after all, being married up to. Steve is marrying down, which makes him the rightful headship of the household. Bucky is supposed to conform to the Rogers’ family rules and customs, live his life however his headship sees fit. He’ll adopt their crest--a white star beset in blue and circled with four red and white rings. But Steve doesn’t care about any of that. Hell, if it was up to him, _he’d_ adopt the Barnes’ way of life if it means they could love one another.

Steve has always been interested in falling in love, in being happy and sharing a life with someone who loves him back. He _had_ intended on marrying his best girl, Peggy Carter. The two had been childhood friends, and their families initially had them arranged for matrimony. They’d have married even, and Steve is fully confident that they’d have lived happily ever after. 

Okay, _maybe_ Steve was a bit of a romantic. But he _had_ been in love with Peggy and she had been in love with him. Only, when they were seventeen, a year away from the Houses Rogers and Carter being able to announce their arrangement without any whispers, Peggy met Gabe Jones. The minute she laid eyes on him, Steve knew she was completely smitten. Peggy cried buckets when she told Steve she wanted to marry Gabe, begged him to forgive her--as if Steve needed her to apologize for anything.

“Peggy, you fell in love.” He had comforted. “How could I ever be mad at you for that?”

Two years later, Peggy and Gabe were married, and now they have a six-year-old daughter, Sharon, who affectionately calls Steve, Uncle Steeb. 

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Sarah asks, pulling Steve back into the unforgiving room.  
“Just thinking about the House of Jones.” He admits, sheepish smile on his lips. “Sorry.”  
“Don’t be,” Joseph says as he saunters over, leaving his glass on the vanity. “Used’ta think you and Peggy made an excellent couple. But she’s done nicely with Gabe.”

Steve doesn’t answer that beyond a nod of his head. He wonders if he’ll be able to say the same about him and Bucky. 

Bucky’s been in the spotlight for years. The way he handles himself with the public, full of confidence and surrounded by an air of elegance and debonair, it amazes Steve. And because he’s been out so much, showing up to all galas, and parties and openings, always with a date on his arm, always polite and funny, the cameras love him. Unlike Steve, Bucky doesn’t seem to have any shyness about being out in the open like that. He can’t help feeling a bit envious of his courage and extroverted nature. 

Two years ago, Bucky’d been named the Society’s Sweetheart. With those wide, irresistible steel-blue eyes and pouty lips alone, Steve’s sure that if it was an option, he’d have been Society’s Sweetheart multiple times.That was the year Bucky had been fitted with his new metal arm. Many rumors circulated about how he’d lost the arm a few years prior in the first place, but none had been confirmed. Bucky had come out of surgery and rehab with the new arm as though it had been the one he was born with. Never once did Steve get the impression that he was bothered by the change on his body. The prosthetic, courtesy of the brilliant minds over at the House of Stark--one of the oldest and most influential House of Society--is beautiful. Of course, Steve has only seen pictures before--long sleeves has kept it covered the two times they met--but the way the plates fit perfectly over one another, the way the metal moves organically, the symmetry of the whole thing--it’s just stunning. Bucky has his family crest on the shoulder of it--a red star--and their sigil-- _From Sacrifice Comes Glory_ \--around it. Steve’s stomach clenches when he thinks about having to make him change it to the Rogers’ crest. 

He’s seen Bucky dancing, too, and how he moves on the dancefloor like it’s _his_ and no one else’s drives Steve crazy. Steve, admittedly, has had held the guy in high regards since way before all this anyway, since one fateful evening when they were kids, a moment in Bucky’s life that he probably doesn’t even remember. 

So maybe Steve _is_ a little excited about today. The fact that the Barnes had thought of him at all still fills him with a bit of a buzz. There were tons of eligibles that could have agreed to be his suitor. Maybe others had, Steve wasn’t sure. Perhaps the Barnes had chosen him out of several, maybe _Bucky_ had himself. Either way, it’s Steve here today, and no one else. 

“You’ll do fine, Steven,” His mother assures him. “James is very lucky to have you.”

Steve is about to tell her he’s pretty sure it’s the other way around but doesn’t get the chance. There’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” He answers the knock.

A prioress steps into the room. Her black and white robes look uncomfortable.

“The Lady Barnes is ready to welcome you.” She announces. 

A knot--half excited, half nervous--pulls in Steve’s stomach. Guess that means Bucky is still here. The note he’d attached to his boutonniere is quite unorthodox, but he _does_ want Bucky to know that he still has the option to walk away from this without tarnishing his family’s House. Bucky still has a bit of time to take him up on that offer. If he does, Steve will do whatever he can to make sure the Barnes face no consequences for it. 

“Are you ready?” Joseph asks.  
Steve nods. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The prioress takes them down a long, stone corridor, once lit by torches, now wired with the new electric lighting. It’s still pretty dark though. On either side of him, his parents each place a hand on both his biceps. When they reach the two wooden doors, Steve takes in a deep breath, and he gets two reassuring squeezes on his arms. 

Both doors open wide into the Chapel’s main room. Society’s 107th Chapel is one of the oldest on Manhattan Isle. Its walls and floors are stone, steepled ceiling made of dark wood. A cool draft permeates through the place, the mark of autumn already coming through. It makes the candles--the hundreds, maybe even thousands of candles in the room--flicker a bit. The tiny, dancing flames create something of an eery glow in the room. All the entrances and windows are arched, the windows containing stained glass, depicting traditional Society functions--presentation balls, galas, weddings. The wooden pews--made from the same wood as the ceilings--are filled with Society’s highest Houses, their banners hanging on the sides, some flying high on poles. 

Towards the front, Steve can just make out the crest of falcon wings--the House Wilson. Sam, his best friend, would have a perfect seat for the occasion. If not for that, Steve would be just as put off by this room as the preparation room. This room is alluring, sure, but it’s just as easily frightening, ready to chase away anyone not really willing to be there. 

An organ starts to play. Steve isn’t sure where the instrument is. Unlike other Chapels he’s been in, there is no balcony for it to be located on. Still, the music pumps through the room from somewhere. 

Bright flashes go off as Steve is escorted to the altar by his parents. Private cameras of course. The press is not allowed in for the ceremony. They’ll be waiting outside, ready to catch a glimpse of Society’s newly weds. Their family bannerman is standing just in front of the altar, a flag with their crest held up high. On the other side, is the Barnes’ bannerman, who’s holding the House of Barnes crest. 

“Many warm welcomes to this joyous occasion,” Lady Barnes greets as Steve and his parents reach the altar. “On behalf of the Barnes family, I, Winifred Barnes, thank you, the House Rogers, for accepting my son James to be a member of your house.”

Steve is too busy watching Lady Barnes give the traditional welcoming speech to see his parents actually nod though he’s sure they do.

“The honor of adding a new member to our house is ours,” Both Sarah and Joseph say together. “We hope our house’s contribution is enough to make up for one less member in yours.”  
“Yay verily.”

With the welcomes done and accepted, Steve moves away from his parents, gives a kiss to Lady Barnes’ cheek, and then stands at the left side of the altar. It’s not until he’s standing there that he realizes the doors are closed again. Bucky, assuming he hasn’t left, should be standing right outside of them. 

Steve is holding his breath when the music changes to the traditional wedding march. From out in the audience, he doesn’t look, but he can tell, that Sam is beaming at him. It soothes his nerves enough to smile a little. But when those doors open, and he sees Bucky, _Oh thank God_ , is out there, his heart picks up double time. 

Bucky looks absolutely stunning coming towards him. Black on black tux, pink carnation pinned to his jacket, those eyes piercing through the soft glow of the candlelight--it’s all breathtaking. He isn’t smiling though, like Steve had secretly hoped. Well, he’ll take what he can get. 

His husband-to-be is escorted by two prioresses and then presented back to Lady Barnes. She kisses her son’s cheek and she hands him over to Steve’s parents, before taking her seat in the front pew to the right. Assuming the rest of the ceremony goes off as expected, Bucky Barnes is no longer considered her son. He’ll become part of the House of Rogers, and in just a few moments will be legally bound to Steve. Steve’s parents welcome Bucky, his mother even kisses his cheek--not a part of the ceremony, but just who Sarah is--and they bring him to Steve. 

Bucky’s eyes are lowered when he’s given away to Steve, even when he loops his right arm with his. Steve desperately wants to look into those eyes, to see what’s written there. Is it fear? Disgust? Confusion? He starts to panic. What if he didn’t get the note? What if this is Bucky’s absolute worst nightmare? The Abbot is saying things--he’s been present the whole time, though Steve hardly noticed--and the words he’s saying simply tease Steve’s ears before leaving and never fully entering. Instead, they decide to just fall short, leaving Steve with only his own knowledge on wedding ceremonies to go on. 

When the words have suddenly disappeared, no longer mocking Steve, he realizes that he’s supposed to do something. He glances up at the Abbot. The Abbot all but rolls his eyes and looks to the two chairs at the left side of the altar. That’s right. Steve and Bucky are supposed to go sit there and wait while the Abbot gives his reading about the holy and spiritual side of marriage, and life and such. 

His arm is still looped with Bucky’s, the way it’s supposed to be when they stand in front of the Abbot, so Steve guides them both over to the chairs. Bucky is tense and rigid next to him, back straight and eyes not quite focused on anything. 

As the Abbot rambles on about the commitment of marriage, the responsibility of making it work through thick and thin, Steve leans over a little and whispers to Bucky, “You don’t have to do this.” His voice must startle Bucky since he gives a little jump. Only his eyes move towards Steve. “I swear,” Steve goes on, “You can leave and I’ll make sure everyone thinks it’s on me.”

It’s clear by the expression on his face that Bucky is seriously considering taking him up on that offer. That hurts Steve, though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t know Bucky, hadn’t ever planned on courting Bucky either, but the hurt is still there. But Bucky draws in a deep breath and shakes his head.

He responds, “No. I’m okay. I can do this.”

He doesn’t want to though, Steve can tell that much. He’s doing this against his will, to protect his family from slipping down Society’s hierarchy, and Steve’s never felt more admiration for someone in his entire life. Like the Barnes’ sigil says, Bucky is willing to sacrifice his happiness, to give up what it is he’s really looking for, just to protect his family. Steve wishes there was some way he could convey the amount of respect he feels for Bucky. Even if Steve tried to, he doesn’t have the chance. The Abbot’s wrapping up his words in a neat little package so that everyone can hold on to them--even though Steve barely caught any of it, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky hadn’t either--and it’s time for them to go back in front of him. 

Bucky stands up first, a quick, a jerky movement that says to Steve if they don’t hurry up he’s going to run or cry or pass out or something along those lines. He’s waiting for Steve since they’re supposed to go together. Steve rises and walks with him over to the long kneeling bench that was placed in front of the Abbot for them. 

Stopping in front of it, Bucky looks unsure, like he’s never done this before and isn’t confident he can manage without falling over himself. If the Barnes family don’t go to Chapel, that may just be the case, he probably never has, so Steve gently takes hold of Bucky’s arm to steady him. At first, Bucky appears slighted, like the idea of needing help for such a simple task is undignifying. But the tense muscles under Steve’s hand loosen and, even though Bucky has yet to so much as even glance at him _once_ since walking down the aisle, he nods, accepting the help. 

They lower themselves their knees, Steve fluid and graceful, Bucky tense and wobbly even with Steve’s help. Without thinking, Steve immediately laces his fingers and places his elbows up on the top of the bench. Bucky follows in suit, but it does take him a few seconds to figure out what to do with his hands. Seems it didn’t quite matter that they’d run through this at their rehearsal, Bucky probably didn’t soak up any of it. 

When the Abbot approaches their bench with a canister in his hand, Steve can’t help but wonder if Bucky is confused. Bucky’s eyes do grow large when the Abbot scoops out some of the anointing oil and spreads it across Steve’s brow, and then holds his breath as the same thing is done to him. Steve bows his head, so does Bucky, but only when the Abbot places his head on Steve’s and goes to do so to Bucky.

“Blessed be these children,” The Abbot starts, “who come here to marry today. Free them from all their sins so that they may enter into holy matrimony with fresh and clean souls.”

He gives them a few more blessings before asking them to stand and face another. Steve turns, so does Bucky, but Bucky keeps his eyes lowered. A friar brings over their rings on a satin pillow. They’re black, platinum, and are both engraved on the outside with the words _justice, loyalty, perseverance, truth_ \--the House of Rogers’ sigil--the one Bucky would need to adapt to. 

Steve picks up the one meant for Bucky when the Abbot gives him the okay and slowly, calmly, gives Bucky his vow.

“I, Steven Grant Rogers, take you, James Buchanan Barnes, to be my wedded husband. With deepest joy I receive you into my life that together we may be one. My vows bind me to you with the promise that I will be to you a loving and faithful husband. Always will I perform my headship over you to keep you safe,” There’s a visible reaction from Bucky when Steve says that part, “I promise you my deepest love, my fullest devotion, my tenderest care. And so throughout life, no matter what may lie ahead of us, I pledge to you my life as a loving and faithful husband.”

Steve hesitates. The ring is supposed to go on the left ring-finger, Bucky’s metal hand. He’s not sure if that’s what Bucky would want. But Bucky holds it up for him, spreading his metal fingers--the action causing a quiet swooshing noise--and Steve slides the ring onto the shaky finger. He can hear the quick intake of air coming from his almost-husband and Steve watches his eyes dart back and forth as though searching for something and he’s not sure what. Finally, his gaze lands upon Steve’s ring. He practically snatches it off the pillow and goes to say his vows. His mouth opens and closes a few times before even a sound can come out. Steve can’t help but wonder if perhaps the words hurt as they try to claw their way up his throat. 

“I…” He swallows hard and wipes his brow with the back of his hand. “I, James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve can just make out the sound of his voice and the Abbot tells him to speak clearly so that the witnesses may hear. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and starts again. “I, James Buchanan Barnes, take you, Steven...uh...Grant Rogers, to be my wedded husband. With deepest joy I come into my new life with you.” His vows come out mechanical, a speech he’d practiced over and over in front of a mirror. “As you have pledged to me your life and love, so I too happily give you my life, and,” Bucky’s voice quivers, as does his bottom lip, “in confidence…” He shakes his head and must have to force the next part out. Steve can almost see him trying to choke the words back down, “submit myself to your headship of our union. I will live first unto you, loving you, obey… obeying you, caring for you and ever seeking to please you. Society has prepared me for you and so I will ever strengthen, help, comfort, and encourage you. Therefore, throughout life, no matter what may be ahead of us, I pledge to you my life as an...obedient and faithful husband.”

Bucky tries to put the ring on Steve’s finger. But his hands are trembling so much, he can barely guide the jewelry to where it needs to be. Steve pulls his hand back and gently takes his husband-to-be’s into both of his. Bucky’s hand is smooth, cool, and his fingers are long and lean. The act must be the last thing Bucky expects since his head snaps up, finally giving Steve a chance to look into those eyes.

They’re swimming with fear, fear that’s gradually turning over to confusion. There may be whispers and murmurs coming from their audience, but Steve can barely hear beyond the pulsing in his ears. The hand in Steve’s stops shaking so much. 

Steve leans in so close to Bucky that their brows almost touch to say softly, “Still your choice.”

Bucky’s eyes close again, softly this time, and Steve would give anything to know what images play before them, for when he opens them again, they are so much calmer. He takes hold of Steve’s hand with his free one--Steve can’t explain the warmth that rivers through him at Bucky’s cool touch of metal on his skin--and puts the ring on his finger. 

Now that their vows and rings have been exchanged, the Abbot is saying more things. Steve still doesn’t hear them. He’s far too lost in the abyss of Bucky’s eyes. They’re like ice--ice in the Arctic ocean, cool and refreshing, glistening with sunlight and the promise of something new. 

It’s not until the Abbot says the words ‘kiss’ and ‘seal’ and ‘forever’, that Bucky lowers his chin again. Though instead of fear or even nerves there, Steve sees, what he thinks is shyness. It strikes him as odd, strange even. From all he knows about Bucky Barnes, there’s nothing shy about him. Steve slips his fingers under Bucky’s chin, gently coaxing him back up. Bucky looks into his eyes, lip pressed softly under his teeth. A tentative pull lingers in the crinkle around his eyes. It’s like he’s torn between wanting to kiss Steve and seal their lives and tearing away from him to run. 

Steve moves in slowly, giving Bucky the chance to pull away if that’s what he really wants. The walls are whispering, Steve can tell, they’re waiting for the marriage to be declared. Maybe Bucky can hear them, too, because he closes his eyes and leans in, pressing his lips against Steve’s. 

The kiss that confirms their marriage--along with the Abbot announcing it so, which causes their audience to erupt in thunderous applause--is timid and cautious, but Steve can feel something there, even more so when Bucky’s hands touch his hips. Bucky pulls away though, the way one would pull fingers away from an electric shock.

A kiss. Their first ever, and it’s for their marriage. 

Bucky’s turned to face the crowd, and Steve realizes that the warm feeling in his hand is because Bucky’s holding it. There’s a smile on Bucky’s face, not the one that Steve’s seen in photos and interviews, but a professional one. Bucky’s smiling with a lie, with experience and skill as he waves to the families and houses there to celebrate the marriage, to celebrate Bucky’s first day belonging to the House of Rogers. Steve’s hand goes up, an automatic response to knowing that Bucky is waving. But he can’t look out at everyone. He’s too busy looking at his husband pretend to smile. Because he’s beautiful. Every inch of him. Steve wants that smile to be real. Hopes he can make it that way.

And then Steve looks up at the banner held up on his husband’s side. Maybe Bucky’s smile is just too much to hope for. The banner has been changed from the Barnes’ crest, to the Rogers’. 

Bucky’s life in the House Barnes is officially over.


	2. Chapter Two (no more creative than Chapter One)

Bucky can see the city skyline from the spot he stands in next to his husband. Their reception is to be held in the domed room above City Hall; more proof as to how much higher the Rogers are in Society than the Barnes. The walls and ceilings are all made of glass, so his eyes are able to catch a glimpse of almost _all_ of Manhattan Isle. Buildings grow out of the ground, pressed tightly together and varying in size, an urban mountain range. 

Steam rises out of the far-off factories, long lines and thick puffs of white and grey smoke that hover over the city. The House Stark’s tower looms over everything, the brass gears of the tower’s source of power visible for everyone to see. If Bucky presses his brow against the glass wall, he can see straight down to the ground, see the people on the sidewalks, the horse drawn carriages on the cobblestone streets and the clunky motorcars maneuvering carefully around them. Off in the distance is a passenger air balloon, taking people away from the city, some of which would love to get a peek at the affair tonight, others that don’t care. 

No one is here yet, save for Bucky and Steve and their Houses. Which doesn’t suggest that the room is near-empty. Far from it. There are cousins and aunts and uncle from both the House Rogers-- _his House_ \--and the House Barnes as well, and at the moment an aunt is busy talking to Steve. By the way he smiles and nods, but doesn’t answer beyond an “oh yes” or “Uh-huh”, Bucky’s fairly sure his husband doesn’t have much interest in what she’s saying. If Steve is anything like Bucky, he might not even know who this person really is. He has so many aunts and uncles and cousins--or at least he _used_ to as a member of the House of Barnes--and can hardly remember them all. Still, Steve politely indulges the woman as she goes on and on. 

As his husband continues getting his ear chewed off by an aunt he may or may not know, Bucky watches as the staff raises the House banners over the tables for the families meant to attend. He knows some of them personally. There’s Barton, Hill, Romanov. His friends Clint, Maria, and Natalia will be here, were at the Chapel he’s sure, to support him. Then there are those that he only knows by their crest--Houses he’d never imagine being in the same room save for a happenstance meeting. The Houses Fury, Rhodes, Stark, Foster--they’re all of them the highest of Society. Bucky knew the Rogers were high ranking, but he didn’t realize just how high until now. Some of these Houses are the oldest and most prestigious in all of the world’s Society, and they’re here to celebrate his wedding. 

The banners of those respective Houses all happen to shudder for a moment, courtesy of the brass fan sticking out of the wall coming on, as if to give a collective laugh at Bucky. They’re not here for him. They’re here as guests of the Rogers. Which, Bucky supposes he technically is now. So, maybe they _are_ here for him, if he tries to think of it that way. 

Bucky glances down at his left hand, happy that his place is on Steve’s left so that arm is away from him, and fans his fingers out. The ring on his finger, satin-like and black, his new sigil inscribed on it, it mocks him. It’s adding weight to his already heavy arm, which is just a flat out lie his brain is trying to make him believe. _You’re such a liar_ , he accuses it. Bucky knows damn well that the ring’s added nothing, and that his arm is light and moveable and sometimes a hell of a lot more useful that his biological one. 

Light from the tall, black lamps, lightbulbs long and some blinking at everyone, catches on his fingers when he wiggles them. Bucky has to admit that the ring itself is beautiful and sits nicely on his finger. The words-- _Justice, Loyalty, Perseverance, Truth_ \--shine in silver carved into the black. 

“It looks good on you.”

The voice is next to his ear, a soft, maybe even concerned voice that startles Bucky. He jerks away a bit to see Steve is no longer talking to his aunt--or whoever that was--and is now looking right at him. 

“What…” Bucky rattles his head. “Excuse me?”

Steve nods his head towards Bucky’s hand, fingers still outstretched and wide apart. 

“I said it looks nice.” When Bucky doesn’t respond, Steve creases his brow. “Um, the ring...it,” Steve goes to touch it and without thinking about it, Bucky curls his fingers in. “I mean...I just think it looks nice. Sorry.”

Bucky blinks once, twice, confused by the man next to him. This Steve Rogers is nothing like the man who stood before him in the Chapel and recited wedding vows to him with the utmost confidence and then steadied him when he couldn’t get the ring onto Steve’s finger. The Steve Rogers with him now is awkward and unsure, shifting his weight from leg to leg and remembers almost too late that he shouldn’t run his hand through his hair. 

Looking down at the ring and then quickly back up to Steve, his husband, Bucky knows should say something. His lips are dry and deliberately working against him. 

“Thank you.” He finally manages to choke out. Bucky wants to say more. This man is now his husband. He should at least attempt to get to know him. “Did, um, you pick them? The rings I mean?”  
Steve nods. “Yeah, I did. Well, I mean, not the inscription, that’s just--”  
“Tradition. I know.”  
“Yeah.”

Tradition. The inscription on the ring, the one that’s never meant to leave his finger, is his way of showing that he is part of the House of Rogers. If he had married down, it’d be the Barnes’ stamp on the rings. Hell, if he’d married even then he and his spouse could have just as easily had their own on their rings. But no. Bucky’s married up, is now in the House Rogers. And that makes Steve the headship of their marriage. The thought leaves Bucky sick to his stomach. 

It doesn’t make Steve the _leader_ per se, but it does make him the final authority and ultimately the one responsible for both the direction and the state of their marriage. Bucky is meant to defer to him. Steve isn’t supposed to order him around, at least not in public--he’s very aware that this goes on in the privacy of many Houses--but Bucky _is_ supposed to respect him as though he has the right to. 

Bucky’s chest feels tight and he has the sudden urge to cry. This is not the way things were supposed to go. His father wasn’t supposed to die so suddenly and leave his family penniless because of _one_ poor business decision, _one_ damn mistake. Bucky was supposed to inherit the Barnes’ seat in the Military Intelligence Department. He wasn’t supposed to marry up, to a stranger, arranged by his, now-former, mother. He was supposed to marry down or even. He already lost his arm. Now he’s lost so much more. 

There’s a warm hand on his back, and Bucky suddenly notices that he’s crossing the room, being guided by Steve. He feels the obvious question rising in his throat but swallows it back down. Might as well get used to respecting his husband now rather than give Steve any reason to think they should call it quits already. 

Steve leads him down one short flight of stairs to a rather large room away from all their guests. He thinks he saw the words ‘Wedding Suite’ on the outside of the door, but for some reason Bucky’s vision is blurry. The room is well lit. A copper chandelier hangs from the ceiling, teardrop crystals cascading down all around it, throwing off lots of pretty rainbows all around the room. 

“Here.” Steve says, pulling the handkerchief from his suit’s jacket pocket. “I...I didn’t think you’d want them to see.”

At first, Bucky has no idea why he’s being handed the handkerchief. Then Steve steps closer, a cautious, almost hesitant step, and gently wipes the silky cloth across Bucky’s cheek, right under his eyes. 

“Shit.” He mutters, his brain so kindly deciding to catch up with him. 

Bucky takes the handkerchief and wipes the tears from his face. Tears. He’d started to cry, right there, in the middle of the reception hall. And his husband, the very reason for the tears, is the one who saved him from them. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” Steve murmurs and then knits his eyebrows, eyes on something behind Bucky. “Is that alright? To call you Bucky?”

His question actually makes Bucky laugh. It’s accompanied by a tremble and a broken gasp, but he does laugh.

“Well that _is_ my name. And…” He and Steve lock eyes. “I mean, we _are_ married.” The second part comes out bitter and cold, and Bucky can see Steve flinch from it. “I’m sorry. I…”  
“No, don’t be sorry.” Steve assures him. “Neither of us were really prepared for this, were we?”  
He gives a weak shake of his head. “No. This isn’t what I ever expected. Not that it’s _you_ or anything…”  
“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

But there’s no way Steve can really get it. While this was arranged for him as well, he’s not the one who married up. He’s not the one who had no say in it. Still, Steve seems _understanding_ of Bucky’s predicament. Enough so that he allowed him to keep his last name at the very least. 

“So, I guess we should just stay in here.” Steve tells him. “The guests are gonna be arriving and they’re not s’posed to see us until we’re announced anyway.”

That’d be their presentation to Society as a married couple, when their honored guests will see them as such. 

“Okay.” He agrees, and watches Steve as he sits down on the oversized, leather bound chair.  
Steve grins at him, small and tentative, as he pulls open the little drawer from the front of the chair’s arm and asks, “You play?”

Inside the drawer are chess pieces, and Steve opens another at the foot of the chair, this time extending a checkerboard from it. 

“You wanna play chess _now_?” Bucky questions, eyebrows lifting.  
Steve shrugs. “Well, if we’re going to sit in awkward silence, we might as well be _doing_ something as we sit here and pretend it’s not awkward. Right?”  
“I suppose that makes sense.”

He gets an appreciative nod from Steve as he starts setting the pieces up on the board. Bucky takes the seat a few feet to the right of Steve, pulling it a little closer and angling it towards him. 

“Black or white?” Steve asks.  
“Uh,” Bucky takes a moment to consider this. The obvious choice might be white, to give him the chance to go first. Strategically it might be best if he decides on black, so he can see Steve’s first move. “I’ll take black.”

Steve pulls up his lips, still looking down at the pieces he’s now finished putting on their spots on the board. 

“Is that okay?” Bucky wonders, suddenly worried about bothering his husband.  
“No it’s not.” Steve chuckles. “You’re stealing my strategy.”  
“Strategy?”  
“You wanna see my opening move.” He clarifies with a wink and then an awkward clearing of his throat which he attempts to cover with a fake cough. 

Bucky’s shoulders lose some of the tension he didn’t realize was there when Steve says this. He’s only teasing him. The nausea backs off, retreating to some hidden place in his belly and just biding its time for later. Yet, for Steve’s teasing, he’s actually got Bucky pegged. That _is_ why he wants Steve to go first. 

“You caught me.” Bucky says lightly, even though his throat has made the awful decision of closing up on him. 

Steve flicks his eyebrows once, the corners of his lips twitching with an amused smirk. 

“This is what I get for marrying a military man.” 

He’s teasing again as he moves his pawn at e2 to e4. Bucky takes note of what Steve did--both his move and his jesting--and takes his own pawn from c7 to c5. It doesn’t look like Steve needs much time to come up with what he wants to do next and he simply puts his knight on f3. Bucky decides to move another pawn which is answered by Steve moving the opposing pawn as well. 

“I wasn’t in the military, you know.” Bucky breaks the silence that turned out to be neither awkward or comfortable. He picks up the first pawn he moved and moves it back and forth between his fingers. “Just in case you thought…”  
“Oh I know. But your family…” He cuts himself off and looks up at Bucky like he’s afraid he’s wounded him. “Sorry.”

Bucky nods, the pain inflicted and at least acknowledged, as he puts the piece down where he wants it. 

“S’okay.” He mumbles.  
“No it’s not.” Steve argues. “I know you didn’t want this, wasn’t what you had in mind. It’s not exactly the way I expected things to go either, but… I’ll do my best to make this as painless as possible. Okay?”

Bucky’s staring at the chess pieces, wondering if they’re on his side or Steve’s. Or perhaps they’re neutral parties. Either way they’re no help. His eyes lift to meet Steve’s. One side of Bucky’s mouth moves a little in an attempt to smile. It doesn’t work all that well, but it’s all Bucky can give for now. Steve must understand since he nods. 

“S’your move.” Bucky whispers. 

Steve sucks in a deep breath and moves another pawn forward, which Bucky is able to capture with his previously moved piece. The game goes on in silence, Steve picking up in pace and Bucky slowing down. He’s beginning to get frustrated. No one has ever bested him at chess before and it’s becoming painfully obvious as they continue that Steve just might be his match. It’s not as though Bucky’s never lost, but with the ease Steve plays… it’s as though he barely needs time to think before making his next move, like he’s fully confident whatever Bucky counters with, he’ll be able to overcome. So when Steve lets out a soft, “Checkmate,” Bucky’s initial response is, “No way!”

But as he studies the board, he knows damn well that Steve has beat him fair and square. Bucky sighs. 

“Well shit.” He grumbles. “I demand a rematch.”  
“Demand, huh?”  
“Oh--” Bucky shouldn’t be demanding things of his husband. It’s not his place. “Sorry. I…” He trails off when he notices Steve’s strained smile fade away and sighs. “You were kidding.”  
He shrugs. “Yeah. And I accept your demand. We’ll have plenty of time, but sadly it must wait.”  
“What?”  
“We have to go. They’re going to announce us soon.”

Steve points to the clock on the wall. Its brass gears and cogs are turning right in front of him, making time move forward even though Bucky silently pleads for them to stop. Just like he knew it would, that earlier nausea is sneaking back out, quickly seeping into his veins and spreading to his whole body. Bucky shivers with its onslaught. 

In front of him, Steve holds his hand out to help him out of his seat. He’s reluctant, but Bucky slips his hand in his. They’ll probably consummate their marriage later on tonight so there’s no reason to shy away from physical contact now. Steve’s hand is unbelievably warm. Not like he’s running a fever or is feeling too hot--he’s just warm. The feel of their hands together makes Bucky’s skin quiver. 

“We can do this, Bucky.” Steve comforts him--and possibly even himself, Bucky thinks--and lifts him to his feet. 

When he stands, Bucky finds himself almost pressed up against his husband. He always knew Steve Rogers was a large man, almost a head taller than him, a wide girth and broad shoulders, thick arms and chest. Bucky’s not a small man in the least, but he feels tiny compared to Steve, like his husband could tuck him into his arms and carry him away. 

Feeling rather insignificant, yet somewhat comforted at the same time, the two emotions war inside of him and Bucky takes a step back, forgetting the chair is right behind him. The back of his knees hit the seat of the chair and he would have toppled back into it if Steve’s strong hands didn’t catch him first. 

“Whoa. You okay?” Steve asks, voice laced with worry and concern. 

With those hands of his tight yet gentle around his biceps, Bucky feels oddly safe. But he pushes back against his hold enough to get Steve to give him some space. 

“Sorry.” Bucky says, running his hand over his left arm. Steve hadn’t even flinched upon touching it, not now, not in the Chapel--never. “I, uh, I’m not usually…” He changes his mind and goes with something else. “Wanna go?”  
“Are you ready? We can take a few more minutes if you need it.”  
He shakes his head, unable to keep his belly from flipping. “No. Let’s just get it over with.”  
“Okay.”

Steve’s voice is quiet, and Bucky can’t help but wonder if his urgency, and his wording, bother him. He must understand though, since he holds his arm out for him without questioning or saying a word about it. As tradition dictates, Bucky loops his arm with Steve’s again and is escorted back to the dome. 

They’re on the steps when Steve’s mother appears on the top of them. Relief floods Lady Rogers’ face when she spots them. 

“Oh here you are!” She nearly exclaims, but is able to keep her voice down. “We were just going to send a search party.”  
Steve snickers at his mother’s joke. “No need. We’re coming.”

He has them stop before they get to her, putting Lady Rogers higher than them when they pause. She gives them a once over and then smiles kindly at Bucky.

“You look wonderful, James.” she compliments.  
“Bucky.” He corrects. “My name… I mean, if that’s… you can call me James… if you want. Um--”

He shuts up when her hand lands on his shoulder, her fingers, smooth and soft, right up against his neck. 

“It’s okay, Bucky,” She soothes. “You’re doing fine.” Then she laughs. “You look just as nervous as Steve did earlier.”  
“Mom,” Steve huffs. “You’re not helping.”

Actually, and Bucky isn’t going to say this out loud, hearing that Steve was nervous enough that they’ve worn similar expressions today _is_ rather helpful. 

Lady Rogers laughs. “Come on. Society won’t wait forever.”

Bucky’s stomach tightens, his insides turning against him, when she makes her way back into the hall. Just like in the Chapel, he begins to tremble, as though going in there to be announced solidifies this even further--which, in a way, it does. Once they’re officially presented, Society will recognize him as a member of the House of Rogers. As if Steve knows what thoughts are running through his mind at this very moment, he tightens his grip around his arm in an almost protective manner. He brings his other hand around and places it on Bucky’s. 

At first, Bucky’s instinct is to pull away. He’s not quite that fragile, doesn’t need this man who his only real interaction with is one round of chess, to protect him from the big, bad world. But if he shakes the gesture away, right before their announcement no less, Steve may very well take it as him being disrespectful, and then…

“You ready?” Bucky grunts.  
Steve takes his hand back on his own. “I am sorry about this.”

His heart rolls its eyes at Steve. 

“Stop it. You’re not helping.”  
“Okay. Sorry. I mean...sor…” Steve sighs. “Forget it. Let’s go.”

His voice is almost confident, slightly authoritative, and Steve sucks in a deep breath before starting up the stairs again. Bucky follows along, his heart making every attempt to burst out of his chest. They move swiftly to the double, frosted glass doors where two guards--lucky enough to be assigned to such a prestigious event--are waiting to pull them open. 

Steve gives them the okay as soon as they’re within reach and Bucky nearly gasps at the changes that have been made to the room. He stifles it though. Years of experience and practice in Society take over his body and he plasters a smile all over his face, lifts his left arm up and waves. To the side of him, Steve is doing the same thing. 

Flashes come from everywhere, the press allowed in for this one moment so they can document the event. Bucky’s almost glad about them for once. This is something he’s used to, people scrambling to get a picture of him and his date--well, husband, in this case--bright light bulbs doing their best to blind him, cheering and even whistling. It all gives him a sense of normalcy, of routine, as Steve escorts him into the room, pausing just a little ways in. 

After a few moments, with the roar of applause still going on, a herald quiets everyone down with a blow of his horn. It takes a bit, and one more sound of the horn, before the place gets so quiet that the slightest noise will sound loud. The herald slams his staff down once and clears his throat. 

“Presenting to Society,” He announces, his voice loud, clear, and each word causing another bit of pain to Bucky. “Of the House of Rogers, wed today in Society’s 107th Chapel, Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Rogers!”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. Everything freezes--his arm waving, his face, the room around him--it all stills in an instant. He’d been told he could keep his name even when marrying up into another House. Had that been a lie? Was it just to make the correspondences between families go smoothly? It’s well within Steve’s rights to strip him of his name, of course, but he’d promised that he wouldn’t. Glands in his throat tightening, he glances up at Steve. 

But Steve is grumbling something to the herald and the more he talks, the paler the man gets. By the time Steve is finished, the heralds looks more shaken up than Bucky feels. He fumbles with his own mouth for a moment, his lips parting, closing, opening wide and then closing again, until he seems to gain some sort of control over his senses again. He clears his throat and stands up straight as he faces the room once more. 

“My sincerest apologies,” He exclaims. “It’s been brought to… to my… ” For a herald to stumble over his words says a lot. Steve must have been quite serious and firm in whatever he said. “It’s been brought to my attention that I’ve made a mistake in this presentation, and Young Lord Rogers has… requested that I…” He clears his throat. “This presentation…”  
“Just start over.” Steve says to him.

Bucky can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or maybe a little of both, but the herald’s face burns red and he nods. 

“Presenting to Society,” He announces again. “Of the House Rogers, wed today in Society’s 107th Chapel, Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes!”

It takes a moment, a moment stunned and unsure silence that almost goes too long, but the crowd breaks out into applause. It’s quiet and polite at first, but when Steve’s face softens and that smile breaks through again, it gets louder and more enthusiastic. So Bucky tears his gaze away from him to wave along with Steve, and Steve starts forward again, taking them further into the room. 

Bucky can’t really believe what just happened. The herald wasn’t supposed to announce them like that, and when Steve heard it, his immediate response was to correct it, even if that meant causing something of a spectacle. No one has ever done anything like that before, not for Bucky anyway. 

They stop in the middle of the floor. Bucky hasn’t been made aware of this, but apparently Steve intends on having a first dance. He didn’t realize there would be dancing at his wedding since he hadn’t been involved in the details. Of course, it’s what he prefers since Bucky loves to dance. When Steve stops, he breaks away just enough to turn and face him. He puts his arms up, clearly ready to take the lead, then starts to lower them like he isn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. Since Bucky’s fine with him leading, and figures bickering over such a thing in front of Society’s highest Houses probably won’t look so good, he takes Steve’s hand while he still can, ignoring that unsettled sensation that rushes through him when his left hand rests upon Steve’s shoulder. 

As soon as they’re in position, the band--another group of people lucky enough to be here--starts to play. Bucky immediately recognizes the piece and stares up at Steve as he starts moving them about, stiffly and with absolutely no grace whatsoever.

The minstrel starts singing,

_“I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you  
That I almost believe that they’re real”_

“You like this song?” Bucky questions and then hisses when Steve steps on his foot. 

_Ow! It shouts. Watch it!_  
 _Calm down._ Bucky scolds. _It didn’t hurt._

“Shit. Sorry.” Steve rattles his head. “Yeah, uh, I do.” He agrees. “But, it’s your favorite, so I thought…”

_“And we kissed as the sky fell in holding you close  
How I always held close in your fear”_

“How’d you know that?”  
“Interviews.”  
Bucky grins. “You watched my interviews?”  
A blush creeps into Steve’s cheeks. “Yeah.”  
“After you accepted?”  
“Um…” Steve looks embarrassed. “After and… sorta before, too.”

_“Screamed at the make-believe  
Screamed at the sky”_

That actually makes Bucky laugh. He’s actually a little flattered. A little nervous, too, but flattered just the same.

“I’ve seen yours, too.” He admits, not wanting to leave his husband feeling foolish. “Interviews I mean. When you were voted ‘best catch’ and then after you accepted.”  
“Ah. Then it seems I might be at a slight advantage.”  
“No, not really.” Bucky’s voice is lighter than he thought he could make it today. Steve’s, so far, a pretty easy person to be around. “You know how it is during interviews. Telling the people what they want to hear and all?”  
“Oh, I know. You never said _this_ was your favorite song. You named another. But you were lying.”

_“Hold for the last time then slip away quietly  
Open my eyes but I never see anything”_

Steve is right. In fact, Bucky is pretty sure he’s only ever mentioned this song in passing. The band it’s by is very underground, and fairly controversial amongst High Society. Yet Steve is having the band play it anyway. Because he somehow knows _this_ is his favorite. 

“How did you…?”  
“You lit up when talking about it. The other one,” Steve shakes his head. “No. You didn’t really care about it. You were talking for the cameras.”  
Bucky tilts his head, teeth grazing his lower lip. “So, you, you picked this for me? Because you knew I liked it?”  
“Well… yeah. I…” He presses his lips together. “I wanted to give my husband something nice.” 

_“Looking so long at these pictures of you  
And never hold on to your heart”_

There are millions of thing running through Bucky’s mind--good, bad, fearful, hopeful--none of them help him form a coherent thought. Bucky isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing and just continues letting Steve shuffling him awkwardly across the dancefloor. 

_“There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more  
Than to feel you deep in my heart”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to follow me on tumblr at  
> [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumbler.com)
> 
> And some more visuals:
> 
> Bucky nervous in the Dome
> 
>  
> 
> And being somewhat playful with Steve in the Wedding Suite
> 
>  
> 
> Steve teasing Bucky
> 
>  
> 
> And feeling awkward 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve and Bucky's wedding song: [Pictures of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8UR2TFUp8w)


	3. Three Times a Chapter

His husband smells like champagne. It isn’t any wonder since Bucky’s been gulping glasses down since he got back from his trip around the dancefloor. Steve already knows that Bucky enjoys a good time, indulges in drinks and dancing and sex--they’re rumors, sure, but Steve isn’t foolish. He can tell things about people, their body language and choice of words, what they say and do versus what they don’t say and don’t do--it all says so much about someone. 

From what he can tell, Bucky’s a toucher. He enjoys physical contact, touching, being touched, Steve has no doubt he soaks up physical attention. Every interview Steve’s ever seen of him has him touching someone. Whether the person he’s with or reaching out to rest a hand upon the interviewer, he clearly gets comfort from that contact. 

While their social circles have never been quite the same, they do intersect. Steve knows people who Bucky’s slept with, knows they always come away from the experience happy and gushing about how lovely he had been. None of that bothers Steve in the least. And it’s not like Steve hasn’t enjoyed casual sex in the past. He’s just not in the public eye the way Bucky has been. His relationships have never been broadcasted. 

Still, for all he’s ever seen about Bucky, witnessed firsthand himself when they happened to be in the same place at the same time, Steve’s never seen him this drunk. Steve had--maybe foolishly--thought that maybe he was a little more relaxed after their first dance. In fact, he was pretty sure of it. 

After their spin around the dancefloor--okay more like moving back and forth a bit since Steve has two left feet--they’d done the proper thing and gone around to all the Houses to thank them for coming. Bucky had been delightful to everyone, smiley and even giggly when receiving compliments. It was all a lie, of course. Steve could tell. Bucky’s arm, tucked in his the entire time they moved around, was completely stiff. His posture had been too straight, like he was unable to relax. Still, he grinned and accepted congratulations graciously as though this was something he had planned. The only time he wasn’t responsive was when they were greeting table where the guests in the House of Rumlow sat. That wasn’t all that surprising. House Rumlow is a fairly private home, and even higher in Society than the Rogers are. They carry a certain reputation of being rough and maybe even violent. Given their crest--a skull and crossbones--and their sigil--Above All; Strength--it isn’t any wonder that Bucky tensed up around them. 

But when they moved away--Steve hadn’t lingered there for more than a few minutes--Bucky loosened up again, even took to talking a little when they were finally able to sit at their private table. 

“I didn’t know the Pierces would be here.” Bucky had commented. “Aren’t you, or… we, or… ” He crushed his mouth and tried again. “Isn’t the House Rogers sort of… rivals of theirs?”  
“Yeah.” Steve sighed, not commenting on Bucky’s struggle with fitting himself into the House. “Dad didn’t really want to invite them. But he didn’t want to risk insulting anyone. You know how it is.”  
Bucky got out a little laugh at that. “I guess not. I mean, not like you.”  
“What does that mean?”

Skin flushing, Bucky sipped some water from the glass that was already on the table. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, even though Steve wasn’t quite sure why he was apologizing. “I just mean… my House…” Bucky rubbed his forehead. “I mean, the House of Barnes is pretty high in Society. Just… clearly not as high as the House Rogers. I never realized how low the Barnes were.”  
“Not low.” Steve countered. “They’re still part of Society.”  
“Yeah, but not…” Bucky had glanced around, eyes full of wonder as though taking in the room for the first time. “Not High Society. I thought we were. But I was wrong.”  
“They’re up there.” Steve told him, hating that he needed to reinforce that Bucky was no longer of the House of Barnes. That was going to be a sore spot, a tough hurdle to get over. “You _were_ voted Society’s Sweetheart.”  
Bucky let out a humorless chuckle. “Sympathy votes.”  
“Sympathy? Oh.” Steve caught Bucky stroke his right hand down his left arm. “No. I think it’s your eyes. Smile, too.”

Bucky didn’t look at him, but Steve knew the moment the comment settled inside of him. The words themselves took their time in hugging some place inside of him that needed affection. His eyes, still cast outward like they were taking in everything around him, had glistened and shined with something warm, and he made a desperate attempt to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth did pull up enough for Steve to notice. 

They stayed like that for some time. Quiet, making a bit of somewhat forced, somewhat casual small talk. Steve had even asked Bucky if he wanted to dance, but he declined.

“Unless you want to?” He had wondered, as if unsure if it was okay to say no.   
“Oh no. I’m not…” Steve shook his head. “Don’t you like dancing?”  
Bucky had nodded, a little bit of enthusiasm in the movement. “Yeah, I do, it’s just… today… I dunno.”  
“Well, you can if you want.” He told him. “You don’t have to dance with _me_ either. You can partner with someone else.”

For the first time in a while, Bucky looked at him, cracking the briefest of smiles. 

“That would be highly untraditional, Lord Rogers.” He teased.   
“Yeah well,” Steve picked at a bit of bread from the basket recently placed on their table. It was warm and soft and practically melted on his tongue. “I think you’ll find I’m less traditional than most people.”  
“Hmm. I’m starting to think you only married me to use me for some sort of social scandal.”

Steve had let out a laugh at Bucky’s jesting, and it made Bucky smile wider in return. That smile, quiet and soft as a snowfall, made Steve’s heart putter. He wanted to see that smile more. 

The smile faded a bit when Bucky’s eyes landed on something behind Steve. Steve had glanced over his shoulder and Bucky’s smile crept up on his lips instead. 

“Hey!” He greeted the approaching man. 

Sam Wilson held his arms out to the sides as he came over and Steve got up to hug him. 

“Hey, man!” Sam chuckled, patting Steve’s back when they were tightly embraced. “Figured if I didn’t track you down, I’d never get the chance to see you before the night was over!”  
Steve scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. It’s been… a hectic evening. Different, that’s for sure.”  
“Different bad?”  
“Different… _interesting_?” Steve wasn’t sure if that made sense, but Sam nodded. Then his eyes drifted to Steve’s husband, running his finger across the lacey tablecloth. “Oh, Bucky,” He peered up at him, “This is Sam Wilson, my best friend.”

Bucky stood up and extended his right hand out to Sam, who took it like they’d been friends for years and were only now catching up. 

“Bucky, it’s good to know you.”   
“The pleasure is mine, Lord Wilson.”  
“Whoa!” Sam held his palm out. “It’s Sam, buddy. None of this Lord Wilson nonsense.”

Bucky gave him a sheepish grin and a nod, then turned his attention to Steve. 

“Um, you said I could…” His eyes drifted to the dance floor. “My sis--er--Rebecca asked me to dance with her if there was dancing. Is it…”  
“Go!” Steve said. “Have fun.” The look on Bucky’s face suggested that was nearly impossible for him tonight. “Just, you’re not gonna run out on me, are you?”   
He got a crooked smile for that. “Wasn’t planning on it. Not yet anyway.”  
“Well, if you are, just let me know beforehand, kay?”  
“Will do.” Bucky replied and then headed into the crowd on the dancefloor.   
“People’re gonna talk.” Sam said when they were alone. “Wonder why the hottest new married couple isn’t all over each other. I can see the headlines now,” He ran his hand through the air, “Defiance in the House of Rogers, headship destroyed in one evening!”

Steve tried to laugh, he really did, but he just couldn’t. Not when he pictured Bucky’s trembling hands and teary eyes. 

“Let them print whatever they want.” He grumbled, plopping down into his chair and holding his head in his hands.   
“You okay?” Sam wondered. 

Lifting his head, Steve looked out at the hall. They had really done a fabulous job. Autumn themed for the current season, the tables were covered in flowing centerpieces made from mini calla lilies--burnt orange and flame hues that glowed brightly in the light of all the candles on the tables--burgundy colored roses, with berries and bittersweet vines crawling through the petals and stems. Strings of tiny lights had been hung loosely from wall to wall, so that when anyone glanced up, it looked like the stars were right there, beaming softly against the nighttime sky, visible through the glass ceilings. 

“Steve?”  
“I dunno, Sam.” He admitted. “He’s miserable. He wants nothing to do with me.”  
“With you? Or with a marriage he had no control over?”  
“Is there a difference anymore?”

Sam took a second to respond and when he did, his answer weighed heavy on Steve’s heart. Words seemed to be his enemy tonight. 

“No. I guess not.”

What else could Sam say? Nothing. Cause that was simply the truth and no one would ever accuse Sam Wilson of lying to spare someone’s feelings. He’d always let someone down gently, but almost always knew the right thing to say, and when it was best not to say anything. So, it wasn’t all that surprising when he leaned up against the table and spared a sympathetic grin for Steve.

“He picked you though.” He said. “That’s gotta mean something.”  
“Just cause he married me doesn’t mean he picked me. The family may have picked for him.”  
“Or maybe not. I imagine more Houses than just yours accepted. Maybe you’re here with him today because _he_ wanted it that way.”  
“But this is still not what he wanted.”  
“Not what you wanted either,” Sam pointed out. “But… my parents are happy. Lots of people end up happy, you know that right? They learn to love each other.”  
Steve shook his head. “I never wanted someone to have to _learn_ to love me.”  
“I know.” Sam chuckled. “You’re a helpless romantic.” And he would know, considering all the shameless flirting they’ve done in the past. “Doesn’t mean this can’t work. And it doesn’t mean that you both won’t find romance here.”

It was hard to hold onto such a sentiment when his husband returned just a little while later with a flute of champagne in his hand and a cold, hard expression on his face. Bucky drank--chugged is more like it--that one and then quickly got himself another. And then another. A few more after that. He drank during their dinner--Steve had the salmon, Bucky the steak.

The reception is now almost over, and Bucky’s sitting here silently, skin flushed and eyes drooping, a seething pile of drunken misery. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Steve suggests when another glass of champagne touches Bucky’s lips.   
Bucky lowers the glass just enough to snap at him. “Are you going to pull rank on me, husband?”  
“Only if I have to.” he replies, rising to Bucky’s aggression. His response makes Bucky give him a sideway glance. “What happened?”

Steve doesn’t know if it’s his threat to pull rank or because Bucky sees the value in his suggestion, but his husband puts the glass down.

“Nothing.” He answers a little too harshly for Steve to believe and after a moment says, “I’m sorry.” Now _that_ Steve _does_ believe. “I don’t normally… this isn’t… I’m just sorry.”  
“Yeah, you said that already. It’s all right.” He twists his lips, wishing for some inside knowledge on what’s going on in Bucky’s head. “Can I help?”  
“You want to?”  
“Yes. In anyway I can.”

Bucky shifts in his chair so that he’s almost completely side-saddle on it. There’s a pleading look in his eyes when he faces him. 

“Don’t think too harshly of me?” He requests. “This isn’t me, not really. And it’s not cause of you either. Swear.”  
“You don’t want to talk about it?”

Bucky shakes his head and picks the glass up again, an absentminded move, for when he brings it to his mouth, he must realize what he’s about to do and instead of drinking, he puts it down again. 

“Will you do something for me in return?” Steve asks. “And I don’t, by the way. Think anything harsh of you.”  
“Thanks. What’d you want me to do?”  
“At least _consider_ talking to me. Not about this, not if you don’t want to, but… the future? When something bothers you?” 

He seems to consider this for a moment, his face somewhat scrunched up like it hurts him to think about it. After a pretty decent amount of time, enough that Steve is about to say something, Bucky lets out a groan. 

“Okay.” He agrees, not quite reluctantly, but with no interest in doing so either. “I mean, I’ll try.”  
“I guess that’ll have to do for now.” Steve says. “You can trust me y’know. I fully intend on being a decent husband to you.”  
“Decent husband,” Bucky mutters. “Does that mean you plan on being a decent _headship_?”

The whole thing was said under Bucky’s breath so Steve isn’t sure if he was meant to hear that or not. Regardless, he isn’t going to let it go unheeded. While he’s never been interested in being a leader, Steve does happen to be the headship of their marriage, whether either of them want him to be or not. 

“Look,” His voice gets Bucky’s attention right away, “I get the feeling you’re pretty hung up on this whole headship thing. Neither of us planned on this, but that doesn’t change the fact that I _am_ expected to be the headship of this little union. And I _do_ plan on being the headship, for both our sakes.” Both the Houses Rogers and Barnes will be implicated badly if this marriage fails because of lack of headship, “I do mean it when I say I think this can work, Bucky, and that has _nothing_ to do with being the headship. I think _we_ can work, _together_.” 

Bucky’s shoulders are hunched, his eyebrows pulled in together like he’s both humbled by Steve’s words and annoyed by them. Words. Apparently he and Bucky have a common enemy this night. He must be contemplating saying several things since he opens his mouth not once, but three times before he’s able to respond.

“This is all new to me.”  
Steve sighs. “I know. It is to me, too. Sorry if that sounded… harsh or anything. I just need you to know…”  
“No, it’s okay,” Bucky says. “I deserved it. You’ve been nothing but patient with me all day. I’m sorry. Steve, I…”

Steve didn’t get to hear what else his husband wanted to tell him--but he did notice the way his own stomach clenched pleasantly when his name rolled off his tongue. His father has just had the band stop from playing and the entire place is quiet again. Both Steve and Bucky look to where Joseph and Sarah are standing, right in the middle of the room.

It’s Joseph who speaks first. 

“On behalf of our House, my lovely wife, Sarah, and I would like to thank all our honored guests for being with us tonight to celebrate the marriage of our son, Steve, and to welcome Jame--” Joseph pauses when Sarah whispers something in his ear, “Ah, and to welcome Bucky into the House of Rogers.”

Everyone gives a polite round of applause and most eyes have landed on the newlyweds. Steve smiles out at everyone, and it looks like Bucky tries.

Sarah picks up where her husband stopped. “As we wind the evening down, and prepare to bid these fine gentlemen of Society adieu, we ask that before they leave, they give us their parting words.”

~~

More tradition. As if enough hasn’t been forced on Bucky all day and evening long. He and Steve are supposed to give their first public words as a legal married couple before they leave to start their lives together. 

Steve rises to his feet, dipping his head in a slight bowing motion as he gives thanks for the clapping going on around them. Bucky is meant to stand with him, to say something. But his head, his whole _body_ is swimming with champagne, and his mouth is dry, his throat is tight, his stomach hurts. 

To make matters worse, this is his forte. This is what Bucky’s always done. He talks to the public, makes them laugh, sways them with wit and playful banter. It’s why everyone loves him. Because he can spin a yarn like no other, woo the ladies with boyish charm and allure the boys with enticing charisma. And now he can’t think of a single word to say. 

He knows from watching his interviews that Steve is hardly as comfortable as he is being the center of attention. Sure, he can laugh and smile and answer questions like anyone, but it’s not what he likes. He prefers to be on the sidelines, participating in life and doing kind things without receiving the attention for it. Everyone knows about his volunteer work with children in orphanages and the elderly in hospitals and animals in shelters. It’s a common rumor among those in Society that Steve Rogers only does those things to make himself and his House look good. Bucky’s not sure if he believes that any longer. 

Now both of them are just standing there--one normally at ease and familiar with all the attention, the other not--as though waiting for the other to start. It _should_ be Steve to speak, given he’s the headship. But Bucky feels _he_ should say something to spare Steve from having to. Panic starts to creep up on him, the twinkling lights he once found beautiful now staring him down as they wait for him to begin. Only Bucky doesn’t have to. 

“On behalf of my new husband and myself,” Steve suddenly announces, face cool and calm, like he’s done this for years, “we'd like to thank you all for coming here today and sharing our special day with us. There are times when it's good to be surrounded by people who are important to you, and for us, this is one of those occasions. We hope that you've enjoyed it every bit as much as we have and we'd like to thank you for your kind wishes and support.” 

Bucky’s completely awestruck, has no idea if Steve has rehearsed this speech--by the way his eyes dart to the side every now and then, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t--and can only stare at him.

“We must say, we've been really impressed by the number of people that have rallied round to help us in preparation for today, if you're not mentioned by name and that's most of you, please be assured that Bucky and I are very grateful.”

He can’t help feeling something nice simmering inside of him when Steve keeps saying ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, as if he considers Bucky important in all this. 

“To my parents, I’d like to say thank you for giving me a wonderful start in life. You’ve always been there for me, ups and downs,” His voice lowers for a moment like he wishes he could say this only to his parents and not a room full of hundreds of people, “So many downs, so many times, and you never left my side,” Bucky isn’t sure what he means by this. He’s never heard of Steve Rogers getting into any sort of trouble. Steve’s volume grows again. “I’m truly honored and blessed to have you as my parents and privileged to be born into the House of Rogers. But mostly I’d like to thank you for putting up with me all these years, can’t have been easy, I know, I was there.”

He gets a round of chuckles, a small one from Bucky himself. It’s then that Bucky sees how tense he is. Steve’s arm is practically pinned to his side, his hand curled up into a tight fist. So he _is_ nervous, horribly nervous so far as Bucky can tell. As Steve goes on to thank some individual Houses, Bucky slowly places a trembling hand under Steve’s white knuckles. The touch makes Steve falter over a few words, but he recovers quickly, and as he does, he lets his hand fall open. Bucky laces their fingers together and gives Steve an encouraging squeeze, and his hand tells Steve, _You can do this. Bucky’s here_ , but he doesn’t know if Steve can hear it. He also doesn’t know where it comes from, this burning desire to comfort the husband he doesn’t know, and he has no idea if Steve will care that he’s here or not, but Bucky wants to do it. He needs to make up for tonight, for the things Steve doesn’t--can’t ever--know about. The tension that had Steve’s muscles strangling his bones slowly comes undone, and Bucky’s rewarded with a quick glance out of the corner of Steve’s eyes and the slightest twitch of a smile. 

And then Steve goes on to floor him with how he wraps up his little impromptu speech.

“And lastly, I, personally, want to thank the House of Barnes, for extending such a wonderful opportunity for me.” He can’t be saying that, can he? Thanking the former family? It’s just not done. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to for you, Lady Barnes,” Bucky takes a look out at the tables and see’s his mother, hand by her eyes like she’s wiping tears away, “to hand off your only son to another family. And to you, Rebecca,” Bucky can’t look for her. Wouldn’t matter anyway. His eyes are too misty to see. “To watch your only brother move to another family and House. But I make this promise to you both, and to my husband as well. I’m going to take care of him. I’m going to lead this family to some place good and happy.” Steve shifts his body to face Bucky now. “And to you, my husband,” His voice is low enough that only those closest can also hear. It looks like he moves to take hold of Bucky’s other hand but thinks better of it. “Thank you. Bucky. Thank you for choosing me.”

But Bucky didn’t choose him. He didn’t choose this. Never wanted this at all, and now he has no idea how he feels. The onslaught of emotions is just too much and one tears slips free from his eye, crawling down his face and leaving a trail of shame behind it. Bucky doesn’t know why he’s crying, but he is, and Steve takes it upon himself to wipe the tear away. 

He knows Steve says a few more things to their audience that gets a round of applause, but Bucky can’t listen anymore. He shouldn’t have had so much to drink, shouldn’t have tried to drown in champagne. It didn’t help anyway and now he’s so drunk he can feel the room start to spin around him. He never learns. 

There’s a tug on his arm, and Bucky realizes that he’s walking through the hall, hand still wrapped up in Steve’s. He looks down at their locked fingers as if that will somehow untangle them. He’s not sure what’s going on. And then, suddenly, with a horrible jolt to his heart, he does.

They’re leaving. The reception is over, for them anyway, and Steve is taking him to their honeymoon spot, wherever that might me.

_No._ He thinks. _Not yet. Please._

Bucky wants to say goodbye. He wants to hug his mom and kiss his sister’s cheek. Can he even ask for that? They’re no longer his family. It should make no difference. Faces are whirling by him, the room hot and stuffy and quickly closing in on him. He’s only able to catch glimpses of people as they make their way out, as he leaves one life behind to start a new one he’s simply terrified of. 

There’s a flash of red hair, a pair of hands spelling words, a strong smile…

...and two hard, cold eyes that sends an awful chill down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! Lemme know what you thought!  
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr
> 
> [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com) a place for all things Marvel, lots of Steve and Bucky, Stucky, Sebastain Stan, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, humor and nsfw fun! 
> 
> And for your visual happiness:
> 
> Bucky being a little chatty with Steve
> 
> Bucky starting to drink
> 
> Steve laughing with Bucky
> 
> Steve talking with Sam
> 
> Sam trying to comfort Steve


	4. More in Chapter Four

Bucky blinks. And finds himself in a covered carriage, the horses in front pulling them along at a quick, steady pace. 

“Are you gonna be sick?”

Bucky whips his head to the side. World spins around him. There’s someone next to him. He can’t place him at first, not with the blurry border around him. 

“Bucky?”

Steve. His husband. The thought makes his stomach flip and, yes. Yes. He’s going to be sick. He wants to nod and isn’t sure if he does until Steve bangs the side of his fist on the roof.

“Driver? Stop the carriage.”

The clips and clops of the horses’ hooves gradually come to a stop until all Bucky can hear are their bursts of breaths. 

“Come on,” Steve is gently taking hold of his left bicep, and Bucky recoils without thinking. His husband sighs, but holds his hand out, so Bucky puts his right hand in it and accepts the help getting out of the carriage. 

Bucky immediately stumbles over his feet as he tries to get to the side of the road. Dirt for some reason. He’s bent over, swaying from side to side when his body heaves, trying to rid itself of the toxins he so mercilessly forced into it. His stomach is mad at him, and his brain, he’s pretty sure, is laughing at him. Enjoying the suffering he’s going through now for not listening to it earlier. _Haha_ , it says, _See? What’d I tell you?_

 _Shut up._ Bucky tells it. _I’m not talking to you._  
 _You never listen anyway._

Something warm and firm is on his hip. Keeps him steady as he continues getting sick. Something warm is on his back too, moving up and down. It feels nice. Nice and comforting. Anchors to the ground. His insides twist and convulse again, and Bucky’s throat is burning. And here comes the words of apology. Words that he’ll vomit up, too. 

“I’m sorry,” He moans, compelled and sentimental, the liquor still burning through him. “I’m…” He spits. “I’m sorry. Steve.” Right. Steve. His husband. Keeping him from falling into his own mess. “I’m sorry.”  
“Shh,” Steve’s hand keeps rubbing his back. “I’ve got you.”

He shouldn’t have him. If only he knew. If he did, he’d leave Bucky here on the side of this nameless road.

The heaving comes to a stop. Bucky stays hunched over for a few moments longer before easing his way back up. A pair of hands take hold of his shoulders. Steve must be worried he’s going to fall over. 

“You okay? Feel better?”  
“No. Yeah… a little.”

Bucky’s glancing around, trying to absorb his surroundings. They _are_ on a dirt road, grassy plains on either side of it. City off in the distance. He can still just make out the twinkling lights. Dancing orbs against darkened skies. But he can’t smell the smog. The air is cleaner and fresher here. Bucky doesn’t know how they got here though, has no memory of actually _leaving_ City Hall. Had he passed out?

There’s something cool in his hands. A glass. And Steve is coaxing it up to his mouth. 

“Water.” He tells him. “Spit. Then drink.”

He does as he told without protest. Swishes some water around his mouth and spits out the foul taste of vomit before sipping some more and feeling the cool, refreshing liquid ease the ache in his throat. Steve is over by the carriage, telling the driver they can walk from here. The driver hands Steve an electric lantern. Steve twists the brass knob to turn it on, and the immediate area is filled with light. There’s nothing as far as Bucky can see, but the driver still turns the carriage around and leaves them there. 

“Can you walk?” Steve asks now, like that question is some sort of after thought. “Or do you need me to carry you?”

Bucky can’t tell if he’s aggravated with him or just joking. Either way, he keeps gives an indignant huff and crushes his jaw. 

“I can walk, thank you.”

 _Says who?_ His legs wonder.  
 _I do._

He takes a few steps forward, even though he doesn’t have a clue if he’s going the right way. Stumbles more. Drunk and awkward. Legs scoffing at him, he’s just able to keep from falling over. Steve gives him a sigh, and Bucky still can’t figure out what he’s thinking. 

“Come on,” Steve wraps his arm around his waist to help him with his balance. “It’s not that far.”

Bucky _does_ want to argue. He doesn’t want his help. But, it does feel nice to be able to lean into Steve, and want it or not, he does need help. 

“Are you taking me to the middle of nowhere to kill me for being such a bad husband?” He wonders, only half kidding--about the bad husband part. He’s fairly sure Steve isn’t going to kill him.  
Steve actually laughs. “No. I can’t kill you until after your rematch.”  
“Rematch? ...Oh.” Bucky chuckles. “That’s right.”

Hours and hours and hours ago, they’d played chess. Steve won. Bucky wanted a rematch. Well, at least he knows his life is safe until at least then. 

“Where are we going?”

Steve lifts the lantern. If there’s something in the distance that he’d hoped would give Bucky some clue, he’s out of luck. Bucky sees nothing but a long walk--which his feet are going to yell at him for later. 

“Um…”  
“Our farmhouse.” Steve tells him.  
“Your…” Did the ‘our’ mean his, too? “A farmhouse?”

How does he not know that the Rogers have a farmhouse? Somehow, they’ve managed to keep quite the private life while still maintaining such a high social status. 

“Yeah.” Hand still wrapped around the handle of the lantern, he points with his index finger. “Just on the hill.”

All Bucky can see is a big, black shadow. But it’s something in the distance now. Shapeless. Getting bigger. 

“Is there electricity?”

Bucky feels foolish for asking. Not because he’s sure of the answer, he’s honestly not, but because he’s positive it makes him sound like a baby. People under Society rarely have electricity, live without it, without many luxuries that Society has. He can go a day or two without it. But Steve chuckles.

“Yes, jerk. There is.”

The ‘jerk’ in there, Bucky thinks may be an affectionate pet name, but Steve doesn’t say anything else, and Bucky still isn’t sure if he’s angry with him or not. He should be. Bucky sucks in a deep breath.

 _Steve smells nice._ His nose points out.  
 _Yeah. I noticed._

He does, really. Bucky’s not sure what the smell is--cologne or natural--but whatever it is, it’s clean and crisp. Autumn and cool breezes. Steve’s warm, too, just like he was when they were in the reception hall. It’s a nice contrast to the cool, autumn air, gently pressing up against his skin. The cooler air is also nice though, somewhat sobering, but not enough. 

They walk in silence the rest of the way. The dirt road a little bumpy and uneven, and Bucky is pretty sure going out of its way to make walking even more difficult. But, as Steve promised, he keeps him up, never lets him fall no matter how often his legs try to make him. By the time they get there--it wasn’t that far, not really--his feet make good on their promise to be mad at him. Like his stomach, they’ve teamed up in giving him the silent treatment. They’ll both make their anger known soon enough, probably at the most inconvenient of times. 

“So, here we are.” Steve says as he unlocks the door. 

For the first time since they started their walk, Steve moves away from Bucky. The right side of his body immediately mourns the loss of his presence, of his warmth and strength.

 _Cut it out._ Bucky warns that side. _You’re just drunk._

Steve clicks the switch on the wall and the lights flicker before staying completely on. 

“Woah…” Bucky murmurs when getting his first glimpse of the place. “ _This_ is a farmhouse?”  
Steve scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Bit ostentatious, isn’t it?”  
“I’ll say.”

The place is absolutely enormous. They’re facing the living room--that’s what Bucky thinks it is anyway--the plush, cream colored carpets warning them to take their shoes off before stepping onto it. All the walls are wood finished, so is most of the high ceiling, but it’s not overbearing at all, especially when contrasting with _all_ the windows--and there are dozens of them, the far wall made entirely of glass. In the far left corner is a winding staircase that leads to the second floor balcony (which overlooks the living room), and probably to more of the second story itself. Down the hall to the left Bucky can see a kitchen. 

Breaking its silent treatment for just a moment, Bucky’s stomach happens to growl. Both he and Steve glance to it. Bucky runs his left fingers over his belly, eyes still on it. It speaks again. 

“Hungry?” Steve asks.  
Bucky nods. “Little bit.”  
“You wanna wash up?” He suggests. “Change out of your suit?”

Though he hasn’t actually given his suit a thought, Steve’s mention of it makes Bucky realize how uncomfortable he’s feeling. 

“Yeah.”  
Steve points to the right. “The door straight ahead. Clothes’ll be on the bed for you. Um, and the bathroom is the second door on the right. I’ll make something to eat.”  
“Okay.”

But he just stands there, feeling a little dizzy and suddenly getting nervous. Steve had started to head towards the kitchen but stops. 

“Do you still need help?” He asks.  
“What? Uh, no. No. I’m okay.”

It’s a lie. Bucky’s not a hundred percent sure if he can make it down this long hallway without falling, but he doesn’t need his husband thinking he can’t do anything on his own, even if he is three sheets to the wind. 

Bucky starts down the hall, making sure to get his footing right and ignoring the carpet’s scolding when he steps on it with his shoes still on. Somehow, he makes it into the bedroom. Just like Steve said, there are clothes--blue and white striped pajamas--laid out on the bed for him. 

Plopping down on the edge of the mattress--very tempted to just fall back and pass out--Bucky kicks his shoes off. Two thuds on the floor. 

_Finally!_ His feet cry in relief.  
 _Sorry._

He pulls his right foot up and over his knee, taking it firmly between his fingers and rubbing out the ache. After doing the same with the left, Bucky shrugs out of his suit, swapping it out for the pajamas left for him. They’re very comfortable, he won’t deny that, but it does feel strange. This stuff isn’t _his_. Bucky has no idea if he’ll ever see the things he left behind in his old home again. Maybe that’s part of what the Rogers do when marrying down. It’s not an uncommon practice. Fresh start. Cold turkey. Everything now as a part of the House of Rogers. The idea leaves him cold. 

There’s nothing that he particularly _needs_ from his old life. But there are things he genuinely _wants_. Certain books that hold a special place in his heart, his father’s pocket watch, the card Rebecca gave him when he was out of surgery, records he’s collected, the framed picture of him and Talia, Clint, and Maria. He would like his clothes, too, but he figures he can make due with a new wardrobe if necessary. It’d be the second time in two years, so it wouldn’t take that much getting used to. 

Once Bucky hangs his suit on the empty hanger behind the door--not sure if that’s what it’s there for, but the suit has been kind to him and it’s too nice to be heaped up in a pile on the floor--he makes his way to the bathroom. He locks the door behind him. He’s not sure why he does this. Bucky doesn’t think Steve will barge in unless he feels he had to. Maybe he’s trying to keep something else out. Something that follows him in anyway. 

His reflection stares back at him through the mirror--the glass framed in iron work, the Rogers’ crest in each corner--and judges him. Bucky’s fingers touch his neck, heat radiating from the contact, remembering the hands around it. He didn’t know he’d be there, he wasn’t prepared. 

_Shouldn’t have let it happen anyway._ He neck says.  
 _I didn’t mean to._

All he meant to do was have a dance with Rebecca. And he had. She cried silently, her head nestled on his chest as they swayed to the soft music in the breathtaking and stunning reception hall.

“I miss you already.” She murmured.  
Bucky squeezed her into a hug. “I miss you too, Rebecca.”

His sister looked beautiful in her dark blue evening gown, intricate laced patterns on the bodice. Loose curls fell around her face, making her brown eyes stand out even more against her pale skin. She’s so much smaller than Bucky, always had been, and not just because she’s almost a full seven years his junior. Even if he spends the rest of his life in a loveless marriage, he’ll be happy that he could protect her from this fate. 

“Steve seems nice?”

To be honest, Bucky really wasn’t sure. There were too many things running through his mind, his body, his heart, for him to really figure out how he felt about Steve, even in that bit of time they’d spent alone. 

“Yeah.” He had said for his sister’s sake. “He does.”  
“I hope you’ll be happy, Bucky.” Her hand rubbed his left arm. “You deserve it, hero.”

Old memories snagged at his belly. Things he didn’t want to remember, things he tried to forget. Cold. Snow. Pain. Guilt. 

“I’m no hero, Becca.”  
“You’ll always be my hero.”

He sighed and didn’t try to argue with her. Not today. They had started another dance, only to be cut in. 

“Can I steal a dance?”

Both Bucky and his sister had perked up at the sound of the voice. Standing to the right of them was Bucky’s best friend in the whole world--the one person who could both infuriated him and make him laugh till his sides hurt in a single sentence. The eldest daughter of the House of Romanov. With her was her intended, another close, personal friend of Bucky’s, Clint Barton. 

“Natalia…” He breathed. “I’m so happy to see you.”  
She smiled at him, pushing her silky, red hair behind her ears. “Like I would have missed this.”  
“Not exactly a happy occasion.” Bucky grumbled.  
“But one I’d still never miss. For you, James.”  
Bucky rolled his eyes. “ _James_ ,” He scoffed and then greeted Clint. “Hi, Clint.”

Clint brought his right hand up to his forehead like a salute and then pulled it out in front of him a bit. His mouth formed the word ‘hi’ as he signed it. 

“ _How are you feeling?_ ” Clint asked.  
Bucky shrugged and signed as he spoke. “I don’t know. Really. I don’t.”  
“ _We’re here for you. You know that?_ ”  
“Yeah. I…”  
Clint stopped him, taking his chin in his hands. “Can’t read your lips if you don’t look at me.” He said out loud. 

He hadn’t even realized he looked down, or that he wasn’t signing along with speaking. It had become a habit since he was little and learned to speak with Clint. Now it was almost natural. 

“Sorry.” Bucky both said with his mouth and his hands.  
“ _It’s okay._ ”  
“I was saying, yeah, I know.”  
“Not the same, though,” Natalia said. “We get it.”  
“I don’t know when… wait…” Bucky glanced around. “Where’s Maria?”  
“Right here.”

She was right behind him, and Bucky nearly yelped when he realized it. They all laughed, and for a moment, Bucky forgot his troubles. 

“Maria! Do you _have_ to do that?”  
“Most definitely.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I guess I should say congratulations?”  
“I guess.”  
“Then congratulations.”  
Bucky didn’t respond to that directly. “You wanna dance?”  
“Is it alright?”

She meant with Steve.

“Uh, I think so. He told me to have fun.”  
“Well, then in that case.” She playfully moved Rebecca away. An outstretched arm, caramel skin shining in the soft light, gently guiding. “Lemme at ‘im, kid.”

Rebecca had laughed and then excused herself. Bucky figured he’d give her the official goodbye later. He danced with Maria for a song or two and then with Natalia while Clint danced with Maria. 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Talia.” He confessed. “I… what do I do?”  
“Nothing I say is going to make this any easier.” She said. “Starting a new life is hard.” If anyone would know it was Natalia, having been adopted by a Society family after living in an orphanage and the streets. Change and adaptation. She was fairly used to it. “All I can say is to be yourself. He’ll like you. Everyone does.”  
“I don’t want him to like me.” Bucky rattled his head. “No. Not that. I mean, I just wanted to have love in my life.”  
“Who says he won’t love you?”  
“This is just not the way I intended to get married.”  
“That’s _life_ , Bucky.” She told him. “Lots of things don’t go how you intended. Doesn’t mean it can’t be good though.”  
“M’sorry. I’m being a lousy dance.”  
“No. You’re fine. And you’re allowed. Just this once, though, okay?”

Bucky had chuckled and danced till the end of that song, when he realized he needed to get back to Steve. 

“This isn’t goodbye forever, Bucky.” Natalia told him.  
“ _We’ll still see each other._ ” Clint said.  
“We might not.” Bucky shivered. “It’s always possible…”  
“Steve Rogers has been to places we’re at before,” Maria pointed out. “This isn’t goodbye forever. It’s goodbye for now.”

Knowing he was going to tear up again, Bucky just nodded, threw his arms around the three of them for a quick hug, and then hurried away. He intended on going right back to the table where Steve was still talking to his friend Sam, but he darted into the restroom first. 

If he had any idea…

But he couldn’t have. He thought he was alone. Had no idea anyone was in there as he leaned over the sink, splashing a bit of cold water onto his face. One of the stall doors opened and Bucky glanced at him through the mirror. His entire body went cold. 

“Hello there, Bucky.”

His voice was already thick with implications. The way his mouth curved, the way his eyebrows moved up, it was all over him. 

“Brock.” He said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Brock Rumlow leaned back against the side of the nearest stall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

“This is on record as one of the biggest social events of the year, not just the season, the _year_.” He replied, pushing off the stall and coming over to put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Besides, you really think I’d miss your wedding, doll?”

Brock leaned in and sucked on Bucky’s neck, a lustful and dangerous knot pulling in Bucky’s stomach. 

_Tread carefully_. His brain warned.  
 _Shut up_. His dick argued. 

“Stop!” Bucky cried and jerked forward, stomach hitting the edge of the sink. “I’m married.”  
“And you were engaged the other day. And the week before that, and the week before that…”  
“I told you, whatever the hell thiswas?” He waved between the two of them, “It’s done. I’m through with it. It should have never happened in the first place.”

Of that he was sure of. Bucky couldn’t even fully remember how it started in the first place. A night of drunken sorrow, right after his father’s funeral. Of drugs and lust. And he woke up in Brock’s bed. He hated it with Brock. Hated it and loved it because for just those few moments, all he felt was pain and pleasure. 

For the past few months, Bucky had been slipping into the dark and shady underground clubs, where the Molly was plentiful, Brock was willing and rough and just what Bucky thought he needed to get him through everything. But Brock was everything he should have avoided. All he did was use Bucky to satiate his own sadistic needs and wants. He didn’t care about Bucky, and, really, Bucky didn’t care all that much about him. 

“You said that the other day,” Brock drawled. “And it certainly didn’t feel that way that night.”  
“Well it is.” 

Brock snatched Bucky by the shoulders to spin him around and crushed their mouths together. He tasted like vodka and cigars and sweat. Mouth invaded by Brock’s tongue, Bucky first shaped his mouth with his before trying to push away again. 

He was able to, just barely, and the second their lips parted, Brock’s hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing just enough to make it a struggle to breathe. Blood on fire, Bucky’s eyes went wide. This was wrong. So wrong. It was always wrong. But Bucky’s body betrayed his brain, and reacted on its own. Heat pooled in his belly, rippling through all of him with burning desire. 

“You think Rogers will know how you like it?” Brock growled, bringing his mouth so close to his ear, Bucky could feel his hot breath all around his face. “How to give it to you right?”  
“Brock…” Bucky squeezed out, desire and longing pulling him in all directions.  
“Don’t worry, baby doll.” He licked Bucky’s cheek and let him go. “You can close your eyes and picture me.”

Bucky’s lungs thanked him for the delicious oxygen he finally sucked in, but he couldn’t reply to them. His head was spinning, limbs shaking and anger finally blooming. Brock was sauntering out of the restroom as though he’d used it, washed his hands and was done in there.

“Fuck you, Brock.”  
“No, no,” He cooed. “It’s the other way around, remember?”

All Bucky could do was yell at the door. He didn’t bother though. It wasn’t the door’s fault. 

Bucky rinsed his mouth out and when he finally was sure he had cooled down just enough to pass for calm, a little calm, maybe not calm, he headed back to his new husband. On his way, he grabbed his first glass of champagne. 

Hand still on his throat, Bucky’s reflection won’t look up at him. It feels the same way he does. Everytime with Brock he ends up feeling like this. Like a messy pile of shame, yet for some reason, Brock’s almost always able to get under his skin, which always leads to more shame. Especially tonight. Steve has been nothing but kind and caring and understanding, and Bucky has given him a vow--a vow he fully intends to uphold. 

Right now, Steve is getting food to quiet Bucky’s belly, and Bucky is still drunk and thinking about Brock Rumlow. Bucky snorts, feeling completely idiotic. He’s the one who was having a breakdown earlier, wanting nothing to do with Steve and this marriage, and here he was now, needing the man to take care of him because he’s rendered himself incapable of doing so on his own. How typical. How pathetic. 

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice, accompanied by a soft knock on the door, startles Bucky. He backs away from the mirror like his reflection is going to tattle on him. 

“Yeah?”  
“Are you okay?”  
“Oh…” How long has he been in there? “Yes. I’m coming.”

He rocks back and forth, fumbling a bit, as he moves to leave the restroom, abandoning his task in getting washed. Opening the door, Bucky’s greeted by a warm, concerned expression. Steve is close enough to him that Bucky needs to lift his chin to look at him. 

“Hi.” Bucky says, and then immediately feels ridiculous for having done so. 

That’s the liquor in him making things just come out of his mouth. But Steve cracks a smile and nods once.

“Hello.” He replies. “I got, you know if you’re still… you should put something in your stomach.”

Steve is watching him carefully, and Bucky wonders why he isn’t standing still. Until Steve stretches an arm and puts his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder. It makes the rocking stop. 

“Come on.” Steve instructs, and guides him out of the bathroom.  
“Wait… aren’t we… “ Bucky tries to ask why they’re heading back to the bedroom and not the kitchen.  
“No. I don’t want you to fall off a chair and hurt yourself.”  
Pride rising to the occasion, Bucky insists, “I’m not going to fall.”  
“You can barely stand up straight.”  
“I am right now.”  
“Really?”

Bucky is about to argue his point when he realizes that his left side is pressed up against Steve. He wants to move away, doesn’t want his metal arm to be touched, but mostly would rather _feel_ Steve’s warmth again, and he can’t, not with him over there. 

For some reasons it seems to take longer getting down the hall than it did having to walk to the house itself. When they enter the bedroom, Steve immediately sits Bucky down on the side of the bed. In the middle of it, is a tray of food. There’s sliced cheese and crackers, chunks of bread, red grapes and chocolate covered macadamia nuts. Two glasses of water are on the nightstand. 

“Eat.” Steve says as he sits down on the other side of the bed. 

Bucky goes right for the chocolate and pops one into his mouth. The sweetness of it melts on his grateful tongue and he all but moans at the taste. He takes a piece of bread next, only because he doesn’t want to hog all the chocolate--given the choice, he most definitely would--and then puts a piece of cheese on a cracker and practically devours it. Until he started eating, Bucky hadn’t realized how hungry he is. He’s just decided to try one of the grapes, hand moving in to pull one off the vine, when fingers collide with his. 

Apparently, Steve wants a grape, too, and now they’ve sabotaged both their attempts to get one. 

“Sorry.” Bucky murmurs, plucking a grape off and handing it to Steve.  
Steve holds his hand out so Bucky can drop the fruit into it. “Thanks. Are you cold?”

He is. He must be shivering a lot more than he realized. Either that or Steve is cold as well. Bucky finds that hard to imagine.

“Yeah.”  
“I’ll light a fire.”

A cast iron fireplace is in the right hand corner of the room, round and bulbous with a clear door and a copper tub full of wood right next to it. Bucky continues to pick at the food and within minutes, Steve has a fire going. It already feels warmer. Bucky’s eyes are transfixed on the orange flames dancing around. A soft glow saturates the room, and it suddenly occurs to him that they’re in a bedroom together, on their wedding night. Does Steve intend on consummating their marriage tonight? It seems plausible--and it _is_ what’s expected of them. 

Only Bucky’s turning into a pile of nerves, and this is the second--maybe third or fourth--time tonight that he’s found himself sweating in the face of something he’s normally a pro at. It feels awfully tense in the room now that this has registered. Maybe it’s just him though, since Steve is over by the fire, gently shoving some of the logs around with the iron poker, and hasn’t turned around yet. Steve doesn’t have to be nervous though. As the headship, he could always just take Bucky if that’s what he wants. It’s _supposed_ to be unorthodox and not allowed. Consent laws are very clear in most cases. In an uneven marriage?… they’re still being debated.

Unsure what to do, and hating that, Bucky picks a few more grapes off their vine, takes a handful of macadamia nuts from the pile that’s almost gone, _when had he eaten so many of those?_ He pops some of both into his mouth and figures he might as well just break the ice. If he waits for Steve to do it, he has no idea how it’ll make him feel. Bucky is too afraid of the overwhelming disappointment he might be forced into. 

“You know you don’t have to seduce me, right?” He says. “I’m sort of a sure thing.”

Although some romance and seduction wouldn’t go unappreciated. In fact, it’s what he would like. Bucky has spent many evenings romancing pretty ladies and good looking gentlemen. Soft touches, light kisses, playful licks. Then there was Brock, which had no semblance of romance or emotion or even passion whatsoever. It would be nice to have someone try to woo him for once. That’s what he’s always wanted. Someone to want to know him, someone to figure out those little things that make him blush and giggle and cover his smile--things he never lets the public see. 

He knows he should get over that fantasy. He needs to lower those hopes and expectations. He’s married up. There’s no need for Steve to do any of those things Bucky craves, those things he’s done countless times for others.

Steve turns around, eyebrows stitched and bemused expression on his face. He tilts his head. 

“What?”  
“You wanna consummate, don’t you?” Bucky clarifies. “Isn’t that…”

Bucky trails off when he sees the red in Steve’s skin, filling down to his neck, and realizes that he’s made him blush. Chin lowered, Steve returns to the bed, stands over Bucky, and finally runs his fingers through his hair like he’d been keeping himself from doing all night. Shifting his weight a bit, Bucky undoes the first few buttons of his night shirt. He’s never felt so worried about sex, not since the first time with Talia--and they were practically kids then. 

“Stop.” 

Steve’s voice is quiet, but firm. Hands still on the fourth button, Bucky looks up at him. 

“Oh…” Bucky twists his lips. “Did you want to do this part?”  
“No, Bucky, I…” He puts his hand on top of both of Bucky’s and lowers them. “We’re not consummating anything.”

He can feel his face fall, and there’s no stopping it. Steve doesn’t want to consummate. Does that mean… 

“Why?” Bucky asks, his voice coming out in a whimper and incredibly pathetic. If they don’t consummate, Steve has grounds to call this off without it looking bad on the House Rogers. “Did I do something wrong?”  
“What?” It looks as though Steve lost himself in thought. “Oh! No! Bucky…” He shakes his head. “You’re drunk.”  
“So?”  
“So?” Steve sits down next to him. “So, you’re drunk. You can’t give informed and expressed consent.”

Bucky blinks a few times as that simmers around in his brain for a bit. For some reason, he starts to laugh. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Steve asks, though, luckily, Bucky doesn’t think he’s offended.  
“No, I…” He laughs even harder. “I… no, you sound like a law book.”  
Steve chuckles. “Well, our House is part of the Judiciary Bureau. I suppose it’s good that I know the laws so well.” 

It takes a few more minutes, but Bucky stops laughing and is struck with worry.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed.”  
“Laugh away,” Steve jokes. “I don’t always know how to talk sometimes. I get nervous. Lose the words. Sometimes I _do_ sound like a textbook. You ate all the chocolate.”

Not expecting that last part, Bucky rattles his head, not quite sure what he means by it. Until he looks down at the tray of food and notices the lone macadamia nut left there.

“Oops. I didn’t mean to.” 

_Didn’t exactly try to stop._ His mouth teases.  
You’re the one who wanted it all.

“S’all right. Unless you have no self-control. Then maybe I’ll have to do something about it. You want the last one?”

He’s holding the last piece out to him, and Bucky’s throat is tight. Steve is grinning, but that bit about self-control, Bucky isn’t sure if he was serious or not. All he can think about is these past few months, living precariously from lustful moment to lustful moment. That’s not his life. It’s not. It’s just been a lapse of good judgement. A period of mourning the life he’ll never get back.

The grin on his husband’s face slowly disappears. 

“You… don’t want it?”  
“I…” His stomach clenches. “I have self-control. I do.”  
“What?” It takes Steve a moment to understand. “I was only fooling. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”  
“Oh.” Bucky sighs and rubs his face. “Sorry.” He looks up at Steve. “I’m tired.”  
Still holding the chocolate in his hand, Steve nods. “You wanna go to bed?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Come on.”

Steve helps him up, puts the tray on one of the two dressers in the room and turns down the bed. He pats the mattress and Bucky practically crawls into the bed where Steve kindly tucks the blanket over him. 

“You’re not staying here? Are you?” Bucky asks. He’s not sure why he already knows that, but he does.  
“I’ll sleep in another room. Save this awkwardness for another time, huh?”

It’s just the alcohol talking, Bucky’s sure of that, but he doesn’t think he’ll particularly mind if Steve stays the night with him. The morning though, that might be a different story. Still, he doesn’t leave right away. Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed and takes to gently brushing the stray hairs away from Bucky’s face. The touch feels nice, strangely comforting, and Bucky moves a little bit into it. He doesn’t know if it’s that or just Steve’s own desire, but he stays a few minutes longer just doing that. When the nice, warm fingers suddenly stop trailing along his skin, Bucky holds in a whimper. 

“Try to get some sleep, okay?”  
“Wait, can I have the chocolate first?”

Steve smiles and is about to hand it to Bucky when he sucks it into his own mouth instead and then laughs as Bucky’s mouth drops open. 

“It’s official.” He mutters. “My husband is the meanest person in the world.”  
“I’ll make it up to you,” Steve chuckles. “When you’re feeling better. I’ll be two doors down if you need anything.”

The door closes quietly behind him and Bucky is already losing to the sleep that so desperately wants to pull him under. The last thing he hears his is heart chastising him. 

_You probably don’t deserve him._ It sighs.  
 _You’re right. I don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I know the idea of WinterBones makes some people uncomfortable (I'm one of them). It's only going to be used here as a plot device and their past "relationship" itself ((shown only as unhealthy and never romanticized)) will mostly just be brought up in past references without much physical detail. Any further interaction between the two will be presented similarly and antagonistic. 
> 
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> And with that I hope you enjoyed and I'll leave you with some visuals!
> 
> Here's Bucky in the bathroom at the farmhouse trying to avoid his reflection
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> And feeling nervous in the bedroom
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> Steve explaining why he doesn't want to consummate ((minus the beard, but isn't Chris Evans so sexy with a beard??))
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> When Bucky is laughing at him for "sounding like a law book"
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> Here we have Brock reeking some more havoc in poor Bucky's world
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> The Farmhouse
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> ((source [Lindal](http://lindal.com/)))


	5. Five Chapters in the Making

Crisp, autumn air pushes through Steve’s messy hair. It slaps his face, making his cheeks cold and red, his breaths coming out in misty bursts of white clouds. There’s a bit of ice out today, leftover frost wrapping intricate designs on delicate blades of grass, and small, thin patches dot the trail Steve’s runs down. 

It’s different running by himself. He normally has Sam by his side, each morning at the crack of dawn, both of them pushing and encouraging the other to go the extra step. This morning’s run is quiet, leaving Steve with only his thoughts for company. And his thoughts haven’t been the best of company today. 

The only thing on his mind since his eyes opened has been Bucky and this marriage. None of this feels real, like he’s still sleeping. Bucky was so drunk last night he could barely stand up. He was coherent for a while, but when they were in the bedroom together--when Bucky thought Steve meant to have sex with him--his eyes had been half-closed and it sounded like his tongue was too big for his mouth. 

There was only one reason Steve can think of for him getting that intoxicated. He was trying to drown his sorrows over this marriage. Steve doesn’t blame him, he really doesn’t. He keeps trying to imagine himself in Bucky’s place, imagining how it would feel if one day, out of the blue, he needed to marry up--and right after his father’s death just for added measure. It was hard to picture, especially considering there weren’t all _that_ many Houses for him to marry up to. The House Rogers is one of the oldest, highest Houses in Society _and_ the Judiciary Bureau, which left only the Executive Bureau and its Houses above them. Given the choice of Houses, the thought leaves him with a pit in his stomach. And this is just a hypothetical. If what Bucky feels is anything like this, well, Steve can understand. 

His run lasts about an hour. Steve stands on the wrap around porch, taking some time to cool off before going back inside. At least Bucky had seemed impressed with the house itself. And he had laughed. It was a drunken, sloppy laugh, but it was still a laugh. Steve enjoyed the sound very much, even if Bucky _had_ been laughing at him. He had also been a bit playful, once he accepted that Steve’s reasoning for not intending on consummating their marriage. 

Poor Bucky had looked so terrified when Steve told him that he didn’t want to consummate last night. If they don’t, Steve reserves the right to walk away from the marriage without consequences. It’s hard to prove that nowadays though. At one time, long before Steve and Bucky’s time, it was something the Court would check for. That’s no longer in practice, but Bucky’s worries are valid. So are Steve’s reasons. He wants to make this marriage work and hopes to do so with as little problems as possible, and that includes not doing anything either of them will regret. 

A chill crawls all over Steve when a cool breeze hits him, reminding him that he’s still outside. He goes in, and immediately heads down the hall to check on Bucky. Knocking softly, he gets no response and slowly cracks the door open. Bucky is still passed out, face smothered into the pillow, mouth open just enough that Steve can see moisture dampening the pillowcase, left arm hanging off the bed, right arm tucked behind his back, strands of hair splayed out in front of his face. 

Steve grins. Bucky looks adorable. Even if reality hasn’t hit yet--for either of them really--at least Steve has this moment. A moment in which Bucky doesn’t hate and resent him, where Steve hasn’t taken on a massive responsibility without really knowing what he’s getting himself into, a moment the two can coexist in peace. 

Closing the door behind him, Steve figures he has plenty of time to shower before his husband wakes up. Not many places outside the city have electricity, even fewer have indoor plumbing and running water. Steve can _almost_ remember a time when the farmhouse didn’t have any of it either. It’s a far off, distant memory, most likely the product of being told about it, but he knows the family had it added in for him. 

Any chill in the air could have killed him. That’s what the doctors said. Most of his exams were done here, away from prying eyes and the nosy public. Steve could remember--and these are his own memories--being wrapped up in blankets, heavy coughs that hurt his lungs, fevers that made him cold. Nights when Death crept up close, held onto him and prepared to take him. Scarlet fever was scary, rheumatic fever was worse. Sarah never left his side, Joseph paced the room. With all his other disabilities, the doctors of the House Banner still maintain that it’s a miracle he made it past childhood. Other Houses would have abandoned him, Steve knows that. A child born with so many ailments is a bad omen and never to be trusted to work in any sort of position of power. Even now. Someone _would_ have a case to make if they found out Steve needed to continuously take medicines and vitamins to stay strong, and attempt to have his seat in the Judiciary Bureau revoked. 

Hot water runs over his body, ridding his skin of the leftover outdoor chill, though Steve still shivers. He wonders what will happen to his parents if the Executives find out about Sarah being sick.

Steve shakes the thoughts away. He’s on his honeymoon. It might not be the honeymoon he’s always hoped for, but Steve’ll be damned if he’s going to let the possibility of the Executives finding out about his mother make this time even more uncomfortable than it’s bound to be. 

He turns the water off and watches as it finishing going down the drain in the floor. He’s been in here a lot longer than he anticipated, his thoughts taking over for a little while. Wrapping one big, fluffy towel--that’s nice and warm after sitting on the heater hanging on the wall--Steve rubs the other, smaller one through his hair. His vitamins and medications--all experimental from the scientists over at the House of Erskine--keep his baseline temperature just a tad bit higher than the average person, so Steve comes out of the bathroom in just a pair of slacks without so much of a worry about the draft that wafts through the house. Temptation to go check on Bucky has him turning that way. The door is still closed though, so Steve doesn’t. He’d heard his husband getting sick a few times in the bathroom last night. It took all he had not to go and check on him, afraid of pushing too much, too soon. 

Towards the end of the night, Bucky had been graciously receptive to the little bit of care Steve provided for him. Before then, he’d been hesitant, reluctant even. Steve hopes that will change with time. He enjoys doting and the occasional spoiling. In fact, he probably would have driven Peggy out of her mind if they had gotten married. Maybe Bucky’ll be different. Maybe, eventually, he’ll come to like it. Or it’ll continue feeling patronizing and condescending to him and Steve will have to stop. 

While Bucky’s still sleeping, Steve opts for making breakfast. He moves around easily in the kitchen, with a lot more skill and grace than he does on a dancefloor. It’s the use of his hands rather than his feet. His hands cooperate better. They’re still and steady, making easy work of things that can otherwise be complicated. Steve’s hands hold some of his most precious secrets, and, as he expertly uses them to prepare a House Rogers’ traditional meal, he wonders how he’s going to keep those secrets from his new husband. He’s kept it from his parents for so long now, but Bucky will be moving in with him. Steve will just have to figure something out.

He keeps his mind busy on the task at hand. Given the meal he’s getting ready, it takes a lot of concentration and time anyway. 

The back bacon is cooking on the stove--a black iron, woodburning stove, with two small ovens in the front--Steve’s prepared the sausage with the raw eggs and breadcrumbs, and sauteed the tomatoes. He still needs to bake the beans in tomato sauce and then get the eggs to fry them up. 

Steve goes to the icebox to fetch the eggs. There’s too much in there for the short amount of time he and Bucky will be at the farmhouse. He’ll have to leave a note for the staff that comes and clears it to take whatever they want. Eggs in hand, Steve turns to go back to the island table where he has a frying pan waiting, and is so startled to see Bucky standing on the other side of it that he drops one. 

“Bucky!” He exclaims.

Bucky’s eyes go wide, like he’s not sure what just happened. His lips go to form the word ‘what’, but he doesn’t come out and say it. Then he stares at Steve for a second, and Steve realizes his husband’s eyes happen to trail over his body. It’s clear he tried to stop himself, but just fell short. It occurs to Steve a half a second later that he’s still only in slacks. 

“Um… sorry?” 

Before answering, Steve snags the cloth off the table and wipes up the mess, tossing the egg shells in the wastebasket and the cloth into the sink. When he’s standing straight again, Bucky is still in the same spot, arms wrapped around his body like he’s either cold or feeling incredibly insecure. Steve guesses it might be both, but more the latter. His husband also looks rather unwell. Skin ashen, lips pasty, sweat stuck to his brow, Bucky looks just like someone who drank way too much last night. 

“I didn’t hear you.” Steve tells him. “Coming in. You’re like a ghost.”

That can be taken two ways, and Steve has no idea which Bucky takes it as. His lips move a bit, not into a smile or even a hint of one, but he does react to the comment. He rubs the bottom of his right hand into his eye and Steve thinks he hears him groan. 

“Coffee?” Bucky wonders.   
Steve shakes his head. “Sorry. House Rogers doesn’t put anything unnatural into our bodies.”  
“... Oh.”

Bucky looks like he’s going to cry and Steve instantly feels bad, so he gives him a chuckle. 

“I’m only joking.” He clarifies as he grabs a can of coffee grinds from the nearest cabinet. “Sit down. I’ll brew some up.”

The relief that fills Bucky’s face is immediate, and he sits on one of the black barstools--which he surely would have fallen from last night--resting his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. 

“You really are the meanest person in the world.” He grumbles.  
Steve laughs. “Well… I’m making breakfast for you. Counts for something?”  
“So long as I don’t have to do it.”

He’s still not looking up, but Steve gives him a smile anyway as he scoops some grinds into the steam powered coffee machine. This one is new since the last time he was here he accidently broke the old one. But this one is made by the House of Stark, and, while Steve might be a little biased, being friends with Tony Stark and all, he thinks the coffee tastes better from it. 

Both of them remain silent as Steve waits for the coffee to finish. Of course, now with Bucky in the room with him, it feels like everything is taking ten times as long as usual. Instead of just standing there, Steve takes to tending the beans in the tomato sauce, then checks the sausage and bacon. Without a word, he grabs the frying pan he’d been headed for before Bucky scared him and is just about to break open one of the eggs when the coffee starts pouring into the pot. 

“How do you--”  
“Just black.” Bucky says before Steve can finish asking. “Please.”

Steve pours some for him in a white, ceramic coffee cup, placing it in front of Bucky on a matching saucer. The thing is barely on the countertop before Bucky is reaching for it. He takes a careful sip, not careful enough since Steve can see him wince a bit. Going back to fixing up breakfast, Steve gets down two plates and then looks over his shoulder when Bucky clears his throat. 

“I, uh…” He stalls a bit, trailing his finger around the rim of the cup. “I’m sorry.”  
“For sneaking up on me?”  
“What?” Bucky looks at him like he’s out of his mind. “No. I mean, sure, I guess… for that too.”  
“Then… what?”  
Bucky almost rolls his eyes--almost. “For last night. For…” he sighs. “For being so drunk. It… it wasn’t you. Really.”  
“Well, it certainly had a bit to do with me.” Steve replies, scooping a bit of everything onto a plate. “I understand.”  
“But it wasn’t.” Bucky insists. “Not the drinking anyway.”

Steve is tempted to ask for the precise reason. If it really wasn’t because of him, he can’t imagine what made Bucky drink so much. Instead of asking, since the thought of asking ties his stomach in knots, he puts a full plate down in front of him. 

He must startle Bucky this time since he jerks up a bit. Bucky looks at the food and then up to Steve, eyebrows pulled in. 

“What is this?”  
“A House Rogers’ traditional meal.” Steve explains. “Back bacon, sausage, fried eggs, beans and sauteed tomatoes.”

Bucky’s eyeing the meal warily, his mouth twisted up though it appears he’s doing his best not to. Steve doesn’t blame him. Most everyone in his family loves this meal. He hates it though. Only he’s not going to say anything about that, not until after Bucky gives it a try, just to see what he’ll do. The only reason he even made it was out of tradition. It’s what they have on special occasions. So when Bucky takes in a deep breath and puts some of the sausage into his mouth, it takes all Steve has not to laugh at his husband’s grimace.

“You don’t like it?” He asks.   
“Um, it’s…” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s…”  
“It’s not good.” Steve laughs. “Don’t worry. I don’t like it either.”  
“Then why…” Bucky sighs. “Tradition?”  
Steve nods. “Tradition. It’s okay. I’ll wrap this stuff up and send it to my parents. They love it. As for us…” He points at the big mixing bowl next to the sink. “I have a back up.”  
“What’s that? Haggis stew?”  
“Ew, no, what?” Bucky smiles at his stammering. “No. It’s flapjacks.”  
Bucky perks up a little. “Ah. That sounds decently normal.”  
“Is that a yes?”  
“Most definitely.”

Grinning, Steve transfers the cooked food to glass cookware, placing the covers on top and tucking them into the icebox. He grabs a different frying pan and pours some batter into it. Again, this seems to take a lot longer than usual, waiting for the flapjack to be ready to flip over. But it’s finally ready and Steve, in a moment of not-so-absolute-brilliance, takes the moment to try to show off for his new husband by attempting to toss the half cooked flapjack in the air to flip it. He fails miserably. 

The thing lands half off the pan, half on the floor, and the uncooked batter has splattered everywhere. 

“Very smooth.” Bucky mumbles.   
Steve’s cheeks get hot. “You can do it yourself, y’know.”  
“And miss the show?”

Mouth half open, Steve swirls around to give him a half-hearted glare. Only he finds Bucky with his chin lowered, trying hard to hide his smile. It’s there though, and Steve wonders if Bucky wishes it wasn’t. 

“I didn’t know you were such a smart ass.” He says.   
Bucky shrugs. “That’s cause you don’t know me. And yet here we are. Married.”

He holds up his glass of coffee in an irritated toast. Bucky looks even worse than he did when he first came in. The thought of being married to Steve really does a number on him. Or maybe it’s just being in an arranged marriage in general. 

“Yeah, about that…” Steve’s cleaned up the mess he made and is now trying for another flapjack. “Can I ask you something?”  
“Sure.”  
“Why, uh… why me?” He asks.   
“Why you what?”

Steve really doesn’t want to come out and ask the direct question. The thought of the answer, it makes him feel queasy. But Bucky’s left him no other choice. 

“Why did you choose me?”  
“I didn’t.”

The way Bucky answers, so quickly and nonchalantly, it’s exactly what Steve’s been worried about. He stares at the flapjack, the side up bubbling enough that he knows it needs to be flipped, and feels horrible. He grabs the spatula, hoping to get some sort of comfort from having something in his hands and finding none. Flipping the flapjack over, Steve berates himself for feeling so heartbroken. There’s no need for it; he’s no right to the feeling. This is probably Bucky’s worst nightmare, and he’s been dragged into it. No kicking and screaming though. Bucky’s done something he never wanted to do for the sake of those he loves. Steve can’t fault him for being blunt and honest with him about it. 

“Ah, damn,” He hears Bucky grumble at the table. “I’m horrible at this husband thing. I’m sorry. That came out harsh.”  
“No. Well, I guess it did. But it’s okay. I know you didn’t want this.”  
“Did you?”  
“Not this way.” Steve says. “But I’m not as angry about it as you.” He pauses and makes sure Bucky doesn’t think he’s annoyed with him. “Which makes sense.” He flips a flapjack onto a plate. “Dunno how much of last night you remember, but I did promise I’d make this as simple as possible. I never expected to marry down…” Steve twists his lips, not liking the way that sounds. “I mean, an arrangement was always a possibility, but knowing my parents they pick someone I knew and was friends with.”

When he turns around, plate full of flapjacks in his hand, Steve meets Bucky’s unblinking eyes. The sunlight is pouring in through the windows behind him, silhouetting Bucky in a glowing, ominous presence. There are flecks of dust floating around him, like tiny little minions waiting to do what he says. Those steel-blue eyes of his are wide, and practically on fire as they stare at Steve. 

“What?” Steve wonders.   
Bucky flicks his eyebrows up. “That’s not what I meant, but thanks for that.”  
“Wait.” He’s just standing there with the plate of food. “What’d you mean?”  
“I meant did you pick? Me. Did you say yes or was it your parents?”  
“Oh.” His brow creases and Steve puts the food down in front of Bucky. “I did.”  
“How come?”  
“Syrup?” Steve offers.  
“Sure.”

Bucky’s features light up a bit at the promise of syrup, even if he tries to hide it. Someone has a sweet tooth. Steve logs that away as he hands the glass container of syrup to him. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He asks Bucky as he basically _drowns_ his meal in syrup. 

Steve can see the way Bucky’s entire body freezes. Clearly, Bucky can’t even recall a time they’d ever been in the same room together other than recently, let alone interacted. His husband lifts his eyes, and Steve can almost _hear_ the frantic questions running through Bucky’s mind as he tries to figure out why he should remember him. Did they have a conversation? A fight? Had they flirted? Worse… had Steve been one of the people he had sex with and then shamefully forgotten? It was none of those, of course, but Steve let him sweat it out for a few moments. 

“We never slept together,” He finally gives in. “Don’t worry.”

The relief is instant, and Bucky lets out a thankful sigh. 

“Oh thank God.” He breathes and then looks panicked again. “No, wait… not cause… I mean…”  
“I know what you mean,” Steve laughs.   
Bucky grins, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “So… how…?”  
“New Years Eve Gala, City Hall.”  
“You’re gonna need to be more specific.” Bucy sighs. “I’ve been to quite a few of those.”   
“About ten years ago.” He goes on. “I was twelve, sitting by myself while my parents danced. You were dancing, too, with Natalia Romanov.” Bucky smiles fondly, but says nothing. “Well, there was this boy there, dunno if you remember him, Eugene Thompson? He was off to the side, picking on another boy, smaller than him. Everyone was busy enjoying the gala, but I noticed.”  
“Okay…” Bucky looks confused. “What does this have to do with me?”  
“Uh,” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “I sorta… tried to stop Eugene.” Steve can picture it perfectly, like it happened yesterday. 

_The main reception room in City Hall has been done up in the season’s best. There’s white and silver snowflake cutouts hanging from the ceiling. Garland strings from wall to wall and there are ice sculptures haphazardly placed throughout the room, yet still keeping it aesthetically pleasing._

_Steve sits by himself at the family’s table, all dolled up in a suit that makes his legs itch and feels too tight around his neck. He plays with some of the pieces of silver confetti scattered across the white table cloth. He’s moving them around, pushing them into shapes and designs he knows he’ll remember perfectly later so he can draw it._

_He hears laughter, a mean, cruel kind of laughter, the sound not quite fitting in with his surroundings. Steve checks his hearing aids. The laughter goes on. Eyes moving about, he spots two boys off to the side. No one else seems to notice them. They seem to be about his age, both bigger--though there’s no surprise in that--but one of them, just a little bigger, keeps flicking the other. The little one looks like he’s going to cry._

_No one is doing anything to stop it, but, to be fair, no one is paying any attention. No one except Steve. He reaches into his pocket for his inhaler and breathes the medication in before heading over there._

_“Hey!” Steve shouts as best his lungs will let him over the music. “Leave him alone!”_

_The bigger one glares at him and then starts cracking up. He even rolls his eyes and grabs his sides like Steve telling him what to do is the funniest thing in the world._

_“And who’s gonna make me?” He taunts. “You?”_   
_“Come on, Eugene,” The smaller one says, “Leave ‘im alone.”_   
_“Shut it, Peter.” Eugene growls and shoves Peter hard enough that he knocks into Steve._

_Steve tumbles and falls over onto his backside so hard that he can feel the pressure on his lungs getting stronger. He quickly takes a breath from his inhaler again to keep the asthma attack from coming on. That makes Eugene laugh even more. Even from on the cold floor, dusted with glitter that’s supposed to look like snow, Steve glares up at him. Peter crouches down next to him when Eugene turns._

_“Don’t worry about it, Lord Rogers,” He murmurs. “Just stay down. He’ll leave you alone.”_

_Steve can only assume this Peter knows who he is by reputation, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, all Steve cares about is getting back up, which he does, slowly, but steadily. He’s a little shaky on his legs, but he puts his fists up anyway._

_“What’re you…”_   
_Steve ignores Peter and shouts at Eugene, “Hey! I’m not done!”_

_Eugene slows and glances over his shoulder. He turns around, staying right where he is, and sniggers._

_“Not done? You were done the day you were born, kid.”_   
_“I can do this all day.” Steve challenges._   
_“Oh yeah?”_

_He strolls back over and winds a fist back. Steve doesn’t back down, but he does close his eyes. Only the hit never gets him. Instead he feels someone pull him away. Eye popping open, he sees Eugene getting shoved back._

_“Hey!” The newcomer yells. “Pick on someone your own size!”_

_Not giving up so easily, Eugene takes another swing, this time at the one who pushed him. But he misses and stumbles forward. When he does, the new boy kicks him right in the behind, and Eugene hustles off, hands on his rear end, and doesn’t even look back._

_“You two okay?” He asks Steve and Peter._

_Steve doesn’t know who this is, doesn’t seem like Peter does either, but they both nod. There’s a girl with him, tall, pretty, red hair, and looks like she could rip him open with the right look. She sorta reminds Steve of Peggy. This person he knows--Natalia Romanov. They’ve never actually met, but Steve’s seen her in magazines when the House Romanov adopted her a few years ago._

_“How come you did that?” Steve asks. “I coulda…”_  
 _“You could’ve what?” He laughs. “Got knocked back down? I bet. Here.” He takes hold of Steve’s fists and works his thumbs out from under his fingers. “You’ll break ‘em that way. Keep your thumb under your fingers, in front of your knuckles. If you ever **do** manage a hit, it’ll be better.”_  
 _“Uh… okay.”_  
 _He points to himself with his thumb. “Name’s James,” He tells him. “But everyone calls me Bucky.”_  
 _“I’m… uh, Steve. This is Peter.” Steve shuffles his feet. “Thanks.”_  
 _“Well, uh Steve,” Bucky teases. “Don’t let anyone get you down. I got a feeling you’re a lot bigger on the inside than the outside. M’dad always says that even the smallest light…”_

“Shines bright in the darkness…” Bucky looks like he’s seen a ghost. “My dad _did_ always say that. That _was_ you?”  
Steve shrugs. “Yeah.”  
“But… _how_? You were just a scrawny, little…” He rattles his head. “I mean… what the hell happened to you?”  
“Puberty?” 

It’s the only bit of information Steve feels comfortable sharing at the moment. Maybe one day he’ll tell Bucky all about the procedures, the experimental drugs, and the medicines and vitamins he still takes, but that day is not today.

“Puberty, huh? Did wonders for you.”

Bucky accepts Steve’s answer with little difficulties. He also takes hold of his left arm, and Steve thinks he remembers that was also the same year Bucky lost it. 

“Why don’t you eat?” Steve suggests. “I’ll go change.”  
“You’re not gonna eat with me?”  
“I’ll be right back.” He’s already on his way out of the kitchen, but pauses when he thinks of something. “You _want_ to eat with me?”

Bucky’s eyes move about the room as though he looking for the right answer to that question. Steve isn’t sure if he’d meant for it to sound like that, or if that’s really how he meant it. He pulls his lips in and then sighs.

“Yeah… I do, Steve.”  
Steve tries to hold back a smile. “Well, I’ll be right back.”  
“‘Kay.”

As Steve heads out into the hall, he can hear the fork hit against the plate and then Bucky taking in a quick breath. 

“There’s _chocolate_ in this.” He calls after him.   
“You like chocolate.” Steve remarks like it’s nothing. 

He doesn’t bother looking back to check, but he’s almost certain that Bucky is smiling. 

***

Reality has set in. Steve is awake. Bucky is awake. And they’re married--to each other. They’re sitting in the living room, the silence stretching over them for nearly an hour. Steve has attempted to say something several times already, but he just hasn’t been able to bring himself to do it. At least yesterday they had the chessboard to occupy their time. There’s one here, too, but Steve’s not sure if it will have quite the same meaning this time around. 

Breakfast was uneventful after Steve returned from changing. He and Bucky sat at the table together and ate, commenting a bit on the weather--it’s chilly out today, Bucky says no to taking a walk, Steve assumes he doesn’t like being cold--and the food itself. Bucky thanked him for cooking and adding the small chunks of chocolate--he even helped with the dishes. 

Now they’re just sitting there. At least Bucky feels comfortable enough to sit on the couch _with_ Steve. There are several other options, but he’s chosen to sit with him. 

“Do I need to start working in the Judiciary Bureau?” Bucky suddenly asks, breaking the silence with his question. “Or can I keep my job?”  
“You work in a hospital now, right?”  
“Yeah. At the Military Compound.”  
“Do you like it there?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then why would you leave?”

Once again, Bucky looks at him like he’s confused. Steve supposes he understands the question. Many Houses require, or rather expect, each member to follow in the House’s footsteps when it comes to jobs. Bucky himself works for the military, just like most of the House of Barnes. 

“I mean…” He huffs as though Steve is annoying him. “I don’t _want_ to leave. I’m asking if I _have_ to leave.”  
“No. You don’t have to leave. The House of Rogers is more interested in keeping up family related traditions rather than work and careers.”  
“Oh.” His lips curl up and Bucky looks straight ahead. “Like what?”  
“Like, eating breakfast and supper together--at least whenever possible. Same with holidays.” Noting the way Bucky’s face is scrunched up, Steve asks, “Is that going to be a problem?”  
“No,” Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Silence begins to descend upon them again. Steve doesn’t want it to. He enjoys hearing Bucky talk. Besides, they really should be taking some of this free time to get to know one another. 

“But you work for the Judiciary Bureau, don’t you?” Bucky wonders.

Steve almost laughs, very happy that he’s not the one who has to keep the conversation from dying out. The fact that Bucky might actually be interested in what he does is also satisfying.

“Yeah. I work from home mostly right now.”  
“Doing?”  
“I go through cases that have been neglected or swept under the rug and attempt to push them through so they get the attention they deserve.”  
Bucky snickers with one quick shake of his head. “Guess some things never change.”  
“What?”  
“You shouldn’t have tried to fight off that kid.” He states. “He was at least twice your size.”

It takes Steve a moment, but it clicks. Bucky’s talking about the New Years Gala Steve had reminded him of. 

“ _Everyone_ was twice my size.”  
“All the more reason to back down.” Bucky grunts. Steve can’t be sure, but it seems this is annoying him. “You should have just gotten help instead of going over there yourself and risked getting hurt.”  
“There wasn’t enough time to get someone.”

Bucky shifts on the couch enough that he’s facing Steve. Steve is now bigger than him, much bigger, and most likely a lot stronger--save for maybe his metal arm, but that has yet to be tested--but he still feels small when Bucky glares at him like that. He wouldn’t be surprised if actual daggers came flying out of his eyes. 

“And what did it get you?” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Running over there? Nothing but being knocked on your ass.”  
“No, that’s _not_ what I got out of it.” Steve tries to explain calmly. “Sure, Eugene knocked me down. But I got back up. That’s what matters to me.”

He gets one humorless laugh from Bucky as the first response. There’s an almost cruel gleam in his eyes, one that most certainly doesn’t belong there. That heartless look, it’s all wrong, not Bucky at all. Granted, Steve doesn’t know him well, or at all really aside from what he’s seen and read about him, but that’s not Bucky. 

“And he’d have knocked you back down _every_ time you got up. Your sacrifice would have been nothing if I hadn’t shown up.”

A hard wind slams up against the windows, banging on the glass like it’s desperate to get inside with them. Leaves press up against it, casting a few intricate shadows along the side of Bucky’s face. Steve suppresses a shiver. He knows that voice Bucky just used, has heard himself use it many times in the past year. It’s hurt talking, not Bucky. Hurt and grief, anger, and something that Steve recognizes as guilt. 

“But you _did_ show up, Bucky.” He points out. “You did, and you helped me, and proved to me that some people _do_ notice the little guys.”

A flicker of hope passes on Bucky’s face, the shadows of the leaves retreating as they slide down the glass. He opens his mouth like he wants to respond, but then changes his mind, closing his mouth as the thought grows smaller in his eyes and vanishes completely.

“I don’t feel good.” He whispers. “Can I go lay down?”  
“Yeah, sure. You don’t need to ask.”

Bucky nods and just gets up to go back to the bedroom. Not sure what upset his husband, and wishing he knew so he could fix it, Steve sits there a little while longer. He doesn’t like knowing that Bucky is bothered by something, that he may be the direct cause of it this time. After only a few minutes, Steve goes after him. 

Approaching the door, opened just a crack as though Bucky has swung it closed but it just didn’t latch, Steve can hear a strained sound coming from inside the room. He stops just in front of it. With a sudden twist of his heart, he realizes what the sound is. 

Crying. 

Bucky is in there crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Okay, so it's November 1st which marks the start of NaNoWriMo (Nat'l Novel Writing Month). I'm _not_ fully taking off from writing this, I couldn't do that, no way! But I am going to be working on this and another piece ((an au in which little (semi-hipster)!Steve is a confident sex monkey studying for his Master at Pratt and punk!Bucky is in a rock bank and a total marshmallow and putty in Steve's hands)). I'm hoping that piece ((either a one shot or a two parter)) will only take me a few days to write, but if you see that go up, don't worry about this one! It's not on hiatus! 
> 
> And, as usual, here are some visuals to enjoy:
> 
> Here we have Steve reaching for some clothes after his shower. 
> 
> Bucky accidentally sneaking up on Steve in the kitchen
> 
> When Steve is playing with him in the kitchen about breakfast


	6. Can't Come Up With Something Clever in the Midst of NaNoWriMo

Something warm is touching Bucky’s face. He’s not sure what it is, not at first. Bucky’s also not quite sure what’s going on. His brain feels fuzzy and a bit out of focus. Rubbing his face, his other cheek nestled comfortably on a pillow, Bucky realizes it’s the sun. The sun has significantly lowered and is beaming in through the window, hitting his face. 

Bucky sits up on the bed, a blanket sliding off of him. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have. There’s a bit of moisture drying to the corner of his mouth, and his eyes are swollen and puffy from crying, his nose stuffed up and unattractively red underneath. He’s not sure why he was crying. But his eyes had filled up with tears and they just wouldn’t stop. There were tears for the loss of his father, for the loss of his family, for the loss of his hopes and dreams. So much loss in so little time. 

Bucky’s still in the middle of the bed, on top of the comforter, where he’d curled up after leaving Steve out in the living room. The blanket around him, the pillow under his head, they weren’t there when he laid down. He didn’t get them.

Chest inflating with some emotion he really doesn’t want to feel, Bucky knows the only explanation is Steve. His husband must have come in while he was asleep and tucked him in. Bucky’s not sure how to feel about that.

_Yes you do._ His heart argues.  
 _No, he doesn’t._ His brain counters.  
 _Shut up, both of you._

When Bucky had woke up this morning, panic wrapped around him, settling all the way into the very marrow of his bones. The reality of being married to Steve Rogers weighed heavy in his mind, still does. But not only had Steve made breakfast--going so far as to add chocolate to it because he already figured out that Bucky likes sweet things--he’d also gone out of his way to make sure that he was comfortable in here. 

Bucky pulls his knees up, the blanket tenting around his legs, and wonders what he should do about this. He can’t really remember the last time someone took care of him like this, just because they wanted to, not out of necessity. There were his stays in the hospital, first when he lost his left arm and then when he was fitted for his metal prosthetic eight years later. Nurses, doctors, his mom and dad, Rebecca, Natalia, Clint and Maria--all of them had been there to help nurse him back to good health, both times. 

There had been so many tears shed. First for the loss of his arm and then for the heavy addition to his body, the lifeless arm that was meant to be his. Cold and metal. Attached to him. The doctors and nurses had helped him get used to his new arm, helping him with exercises and how to adjust his fine motor skills. His parents fed him, bathed him; his mother recited his favorite bedtime stories, his father read to him. Rebecca sang songs. Natalia held him while he cried and cried, kissing the tears from his face. Clint assured him that he could do this, over and over he told him that it was different, but he was still Bucky--flesh arm, no arm, metal arm--he would always be Bucky. Maria promised she’d--all of them--would always be there for him. 

And they were. All of them, family and friends, never leaving his side. They had taken care of him when he needed them. 

Steve had taken care of him today just because. He didn’t need to do it, Bucky didn’t really need it, but he had just the same, even though Bucky hadn’t give him any reason to. 

Now, Bucky knows he needs to figure out what to do about that. This isn’t the situation Steve ever expected to be in either, even if he had said yes to the House Barnes’ request for marriage, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep running off like this. Besides, Steve has been kind and patient so far. No telling if that will keep up with Bucky’s behavior. The guy has to have some sort of limit. 

Making his decision, Bucky wraps the blanket around his shoulders and heads back to the living room. Steve is actually still in there, sitting on the couch like he’s never moved. His knees are up though, and he’s leaned back against the arm of the couch. It looks like he’s writing something in the book against his thighs. 

“What’chya doing?” Bucky asks when he’s right behind him.

Steve all but leaps from the couch when Bucky announces his presence. The book falls from his lap and he just stares at Bucky for a second, blinking once and then twice. 

“Damn, Bucky,” He says with a strained chuckle. “You gotta stop doing that.”  
“I’m sorry.” Bucky snickers. “I didn’t realize my husband would be so jumpy.”  
“Yeah, well, you sorta come in like a bug on the wall.”  
“Didn’t anyone tell you I’m part ghost?”  
“Nope.” Steve smiles at him. “Guess they forgot to put that in the engagement proposal.”

Bucky tilts his head. He knew his mother had sent out proposals, but until now, he hadn’t given much to what they said. 

“What _was_ in the proposal?”

Steve adjusts himself so that he’s propped up on his knees, his kneecaps pushed up against the arm of the couch now instead of his back. 

“Just your standard proposal,” His eyes glide down for a moment and then lift back up to Bucky’s face. “And Lady Barnes said that you were her inspiration and that you, and I quote, ‘deserved all the love in the world’.”  
Bucky can feel his eyes go wide. “She said that? Really?”  
Steve nods. “Yeah. She did. Not exactly the most traditional way of sending a marriage request, but I liked it.”  
“And… did you or did your parents…?”  
“I did.”  
“You answered.” Bucky breathes out softly, mostly to himself, but he knows Steve hears. “Can I ask what you said back?”  
“You mean other than yes?”  
He cracks a smile. “Well yeah.”  
“I told her I’d be happy to give you all the love in the world.”

The smile that creeps up on Bucky’s face it too strong to hide. He struggles to, but his lips just won’t cooperate.

_Stop it._ They demand. _Let us be._  
 _Do you have to get so big?_

After a moment or two, Bucky wins the battle and his mouth settles down again. He runs his fingers through his hair and glances at his feet.

“Why’d you say that?”  
“Cause I meant it.” Steve says without any hesitation. “Course, I didn’t know I should have gotten a no-wise-ass clause signed in with it.”

He’s joking. Bucky can tell, so he permits himself a quiet laugh. But he still doesn't quite understand. 

“How could you be happy to do that though?” He questions. “I mean… you don’t even know me.”

Steve raises himself on his knees and tugs on the sides of the blanket wrapped around Bucky, pulling him in closer. 

“Come here.” Steve whispers, not giving Bucky much of a choice either way.

His husband raises a hand and touches the side of Bucky’s face. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t mean to, but they won’t listen to him. Steve’s hand is thick, big and strong, yet he’s so soft and gentle. Strength and tenderness all in one. Bucky doesn’t want to like his touch, afraid he’ll crave it more and more, but he does--he already loves it.

“You’re right,” Steve murmurs. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite color is, or your favorite drink, or if you prefer to sleep with the blankets all around you like a cocoon. I don’t know the inner workings of your mind,” Steve leaves his hand where it is, but taps his fingers against Bucky’s temple. “There’s a lot that I don’t know about you. But the things I _do_ know? Those are things worth loving, and reason enough for me to give it to you.”

Bucky’s eyes open, and for one crazy second he wants to kiss Steve. They’re so close to each other. Steve still has hold of the blanket’s edges, holding them in one hand and almost trapping Bucky in the proximity. Maybe it isn’t so crazy. They are married after all. But the idea of just leaning in and kissing him doesn't feel right. Then again, it doesn’t feel _wrong_ either. 

“What…” Voice coming out weak and raspy, Bucky clears his throat. “What do you know about me?”  
“I know that you stand up for the little guy.” He starts. What happened a decade ago must really mean something to Steve. “I know that you’re willing to sacrifice your own comfort so that your loved ones don’t have to. I know that you love to dance and that you’re passionate--you have a tell. When you’re talking about something you love, you start to ramble.” Steve’s right. He does do that. “You like the classic bands, but you really love the underground ones best. I know that you’re comfortable in the spotlight, enjoy it even, but you’d be perfectly content letting someone else have a chance at it. You have a sweet tooth and you have a soft spot for being touched. Like this,” His hand lowers from Bucky’s cheek to the side of the neck. When Bucky’s eyes close again, Steve snickers. “See.”

_Thanks a lot, guys._ He scolds his eyes.  
 _He knew it already!_

Against his eyes’ will, Bucky pries them back open. Steve is staring intently at him, specifically at his lips. Without thinking about it, they part just enough for him to feel his breath run across them. It looks like Steve wants to kiss him. Bucky’s lips want to feel Steve’s pressed up against him, to know if that touch is just as sweet at the touch on his neck. No. Not just his lips. Bucky’s whole body wants it-- _Bucky_ wants it. 

“I want to kiss you.” Steve whispers. “Can I?”  
“If you want.”

Bucky doesn’t know why these words come out instead of just saying yes. He feels walls coming up around him, walls Steve cannot see, but will definitely be able to sense. Stone; thick and solid. 

“No.” Steve answers. “Only if you want me to. Do you want me to, Bucky?”

_Yes. Yes please kiss me._ All of Bucky pleads. 

He can’t find any argument against any part of him that’s voted for Steve kissing him. Not a kiss like yesterday, careful, guarded, for legal issues only, but one that might actually _feel_ like a kiss. Bucky can’t remember a time he wanted, wanted for himself and for no other reason, something so badly. 

“Maybe another time then.”

Steve pulls away, letting go of the blanket and nodding. He brushes the hand that’s been gentle on his neck across Bucky’s chin and then no part of Steve’s in touching Bucky at all. Bucky’s body whimpers.

_No, don’t go anywhere._  
 _Yes. Another time. It’s better that way._

Bucky has no idea which side or which part is siding with what argument, but he does miss Steve’s touch already. Like waking from a dream, he rattles his head. Steve has sat back down on the couch, picking up the notebook he dropped when Bucky came in and placing it down on the coffee table. Moving around the couch, Bucky leans over the back of it.

He gets Steve’s attention again. There’s a grin on his face, but Bucky can’t help wondering if not kissing just now has dampened his mood. Feeling the need to make up for that, Bucky flashes a smile--the same one he gives the cameras and the public. People like that smile, big and tempting, maybe with just a hint of lust and mischief. He leans further over the couch. He can play this part--that overconfident guy with swagger and aloofness. He’s a pro at it. 

“So, I was thinking…” Letting the blanket fall onto the couch, Bucky flips himself onto it.  
“Whoa, easy there, killer.” Steve chuckles when Bucky lands, ending up a cushion away. “What are you thinking?”  
“Just that… if we’re married, and we are and all, maybe we should get to know each other. All that stuff you just said?” He cuts himself off so he doesn’t ramble and make Steve think he’s actually excited about this. _Aren’t you?_ Bucky doesn’t know anymore. “Blue. My favorite color is blue. Like your eyes.”

Face heating up, Bucky looks away. Did he really just say that? Out loud? He’d only meant to say blue and leave it at that. 

Peeking at Steve from the corner of his eyes, he can see the touch of pink that’s taken his husband’s cheeks. 

“Mine’s green.” Steve says, saving Bucky from any further embarrassment--on this matter anyway. “I’d like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“To get to know you.”  
“Yeah? What’d you wanna know?”  
“What’s your favorite thing to do?”

Bucky runs his tongue across his lip, gently pressing his teeth against it. 

“Play your cards right and maybe it’ll be you.” Steve narrows his eyes and Bucky puts up his palms in immediate defeat. “Sorry. Dancing.”  
“No. There are no cameras here. What’s your _real_ favorite thing to do?”  
“How’d you…” Bucky just shakes his head with a sigh. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get anything past Steve if he should ever have to. The guy notices way too much. “I like reading.”  
“Yeah? What’d you read?”  
He shrugs. “Anything.”  
“What’s your favor--”  
“Uh-ah, my turn.”

Steve flicks his eyebrows up, throwing a stunned look Bucky’s way. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, Bucky manages to give him a weak smile--one that he hopes comes off a little stronger than he feels. Perhaps he’s starting to overstep his bounds. Steve’s his husband, not just someone he’s trying to show a good time to. And he _is_ still the headship here. 

But after a moment, the stunned look turns more curious than anything--like Steve’s wondering what someone could possibly ever want to know about him--and concedes with a quick jerk of his chin. 

“Have you ever been in love?”

Steve blushes, and Bucky’s pretty sure that’s the second or third time he’s made him turn all red like that and he’s also pretty sure he likes it.

“Wow, what a lead off question.”  
“Oh. Sorry. You can tell me to pick another.”  
“I know I can.” Steve agrees. “But that would defeat the purpose of this little game, wouldn’t it?” He doesn’t give Bucky any time to answer that. “Twice.”  
“Twice? You mean you’ve been in love twice?”  
“That’s right.”  
“With who?”  
Steve gives him a mischievous grin. “My turn.”  
“Your… oh, damn it. Okay shoot.”  
“What’s your favorite animal?”  
Bucky laughs. “That’s what you’re going with?”  
He shrugs. “I’m old fashioned.”  
“No you’re not.” Bucky says. “Classic maybe, but not old fashioned.” He’s about to answer with dog, but figures Steve’ll just see right through him anyway. “Uh… cats actually. Kittens. I love kittens.”

The way Steve looks at him after his response, lips curling up in an impressed grin, makes Bucky think he already knew the answer to that. Or at least had made an educated guess. He can’t understand how Steve is able to figure all this out though. The only one who really knows him this well is Talia, and maybe Rebecca. 

“Your turn.” Steve reminds him.  
Bucky wastes no time. “Who were you in love with?”

Steve doesn’t look at him when he answers, almost like he’s afraid of offending him with it. 

“Peggy and Sam.”  
“Peggy Carter?”

He met her once, a year ago, and honestly wasn’t sure who would be able to kick his ass more, Peggy or Talia. 

_Even split._ His guts tell him. _You wouldn’t stand a chance with either._  
 _I’m aware. Thanks._

Given the House of Carter sigil--Where the Fearless Dwell--it’s none too surprising that Steve had fallen for her at one time. Bucky _is_ a little surprised at the mention of Sam though. 

The House Wilson is a well respected House of the Military Bureau. Bucky’s father thought very highly of them, enough that he spoke about them often. He had no idea just how close Steve was to Sam. For some reason, Bucky thinks he might actually be jealous. There’s no logic behind the emotion though. 

_It’s because you like him._ His heart says.  
 _No, I don’t._ He argues. _I… I don’t even know him._  
 _But **he** seems to know **you** pretty damn well._

To that, Bucky doesn’t have a response. And anyway it’s Steve’s turn, so Bucky just sits back and waits for the next question. 

“I already know you have a sweet tooth,” Steve muses. “So, what _don’t_ you like to eat?”  
“You mean _other_ than whatever you cooked this morning?”  
“Yeah,” Steve chuckles. “Other than that.”  
“Brussel sprouts?”  
“Doesn’t count. No one likes brussel sprouts. What else don’t you like? Something that most people do.”  
“Well that’s oddly specific.” He snickers. “Let’s see… something I don’t like that everyone else does. Oh! Apples. Any kind. I hate apples.”  
“No apples, huh? You know they’re good for you, right?”  
“Does that count as a question?”

Steve tilts his head back a laughs a bit. Though they’re out of sight, Bucky is sure that his eyes roll. 

“Ugh. I dunno. Does it?”  
“Hm,” Bucky pretends to think about it. “I guess I’ll give you a freebie. Yes, husband, I know they’re good for me. Still don’t like ‘em.”  
Steve chuckles. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”  
“Okay, my turn.” Bucky folds his lips in for a moment as Steve clearly readies himself for whatever he has in store for him. “What really happened to you?”

Steve’s face, which had been pleasantly open during this whole thing, falls. He turns away from Bucky, searching for something to look at. 

“What’d you mean?”  
“I mean… I’ll accept that puberty probably helped with the whole growing thing, but that skinny little punk who was too dumb to back down from a fight?” Steve gives him a sideways glance. “He had hearing aids. I don’t think puberty can fix hearing problems, can it?”

The way Steve looks at him now, eyes focused intently on Bucky’s and mouth set in a tight line, it makes Bucky nervous. Nervous enough that he needs to look away.

_Nice going._ His brain berates.  
 _I didn’t… shut up._

“Never mind,” Bucky whispers. “M’sorry, I…”  
“It was sort of… an experimental procedure.” Steve says. 

Stomach clenching, Bucky gazes back up at him. His husband’s expression, while far from relaxed, is much less intense now. Whatever courage he was searching for, Steve must have found it. 

“What…?”  
“I wasn’t supposed to survive.” Steve tells him. “I mean, that’s what the doctors tell me. I was just… born sick? I guess. Weak immune system, hearing problems, asthma, anemia, heart murmurs and palpitations, high blood pressure… probably some more that I’m just blanking on cause not many people know this.” He takes in a deep breath, as though he needs to prepare himself to continue. “My parents did everything they could to take care of me properly. We spent a lot of time here.” That might explain how the Rogers were able to stay out of the public eye so much. “The doctors and scientists over at the Houses of Banner and Erskine? They signed a legal gag when I was just a baby,” He pauses and eyes Bucky for a moment, “I’m sure you can imagine that Society wouldn’t have been too kind to my parents if they found out about their ill child.” 

Bucky does understand that. The Rogers, for keeping such a sickly child, could have been removed from their seats in Parliament for being emotionally compromised and unable to make sound decisions. 

“Anyway,” Steve goes on, “There was one apothecary in the House Erskine, Abraham, that was remarkably brilliant. He came up with various medications and vitamins to get my through childhood. When I was fourteen, he generated a formula specifically designed for me and my body. He actually was able to make it using my DNA. Took three days to complete the procedure. Had to inject the stuff into my bone marrow. It was risky, could’ve killed me right away, but… well, it didn’t. It was a slow process, but after a few months, I was… able to breathe right. My heart stopped pounding. My blood pressure stayed normal. I could hear without hearing aids, I could _see_ colors. I stopped getting sick all the time. You’re right, by the way,” He adds. “My growing was puberty, but I was able to get myself stronger--keep my body building muscle and strength--because of what the procedure did for me.”

It takes a few minutes for Bucky to process all that. At first, he’s able to hold Steve’s gaze; and Steve’s gaze never falters. Bucky has to look away though. He can’t figure out anything to say. So he just says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Did it hurt?”  
A tiny smirk lifts Steve’s mouth. “A little.”  
“Is it permanent?”  
“So far.” He rattles his head a bit. “Well, I do need to take injections everyday. Just a small dose of the medicines and vitamins that keep the original serum functioning. Not supposed to have it either. Dr. Erskine died before he could get the serum approved by the Military Bureau, and when he died, the original formula went with him. The doctors at the House of Banner keep refilling the supplements for me.” Steve gives him a smile. “Do I get three now?”  
Bucky gives him a blank look. “Three what?”  
“Questions. You just asked three.”  
“I did?”  
Steve laughs. “You sure did. You asked what happened to me,” He starts holding up a finger to check off each question asked, “if it hurt, and if it’s permanent.”  
“Oh.”

Bucky can’t be positive, but he’s pretty sure that’s Steve’s way of moving this away from him and that particular area. Just the fact that he answered so honestly, has given Bucky so much personal information on himself when they’ve known each other for the whole of a day… Bucky can’t make sense of it. But there is one thing he can do for him. 

“Okay, yeah. You get three then.”  
“Good call,” Steve winks at him. “Might’ve had to pull rank on you there.”  
Bucky’s mouth falls open. “You… are teasing again, huh?”  
“Right. You’re not the only one who can be a smart ass.”  
“I see that.” He hides his shy smile. “What’re your three questions?”  
“Hmm…” Steve glances out the window first and then smiles softly. “I think I’ll save them. Why don’t we have some supper?”  
“Can I count that as a question?”  
“No.” He snickers. “But I promise we’ll make something you like.”  
“Deal.”

Steve makes good on his promise and makes Bucky chicken parmigiana for dinner, but his husband is clear to state that asking what he wanted for dinner most certainly does _not_ count as a question. 

“You’re gonna have to learn your way around a kitchen,” Steve tells him while they’re eating. “Need to learn how to cook and stuff.”  
“Why?” Bucky wonders before he can keep the question to himself. “Erm, I mean…” Steve is giving him a look that Bucky can’t quite decipher. _Damn it._ “You don’t have staff to cook for you?”  
“We do. But you still need to learn. Hard work and all. Part of the Rogers’ creed.” Steve explains, his words gentle as though trying to not upset Bucky. “Truvie will help you.”  
“Truvie?”  
“Our Housekeeper.”

_Our Housekeeper. We do._

Steve keeps including Bucky in all areas of his life. It’s like he doesn’t see him as some intruder, even if Bucky feels like an outsider. Pushing what’s left of his dinner around on his plate, Bucky sighs. Chin in his hand, he can tell he’s closing off again. 

“So where do you live?” Bucky wonders. “I know the House of Rogers has their building in the Lower East Side, but… is that where you live, too?”  
“No. We have a brownstone in Clinton Hill.”

_We._ He did it again.

“In the Brooklyn Sector?”  
Steve nods. “Yeah.”

Great. That makes them bridge and tunnel people. Well, Bucky is anyway since the Military compound is on Manhattan Isle. 

As though Steve can read his mind, he goes on to say, “We have a driver that can get you to work everyday. Or, if you’d like, I can go in with you.” He rattles his head. “I mean, not, y’know, your work. I mean I can work from City Hall. We can go in together. If you want.”  
“No, that’s okay.” Bucky assures him. 

It’s not that he’d so much _mind_ having Steve come with him, it’s… the opposite. He doesn’t want to feel close to him, doesn’t want to feel _anything_ for him, and he’s already dangerously close to liking him very much. 

_That’s cause you’re just dead set on being angry_. His heart reminds him. _Why don’t you give him a chance?_  
 _Why don’t **you** stay out of this?_

“Oh, okay.” Steve murmurs, and it sounds like he’s disappointed. “What do you do at the hospital?”

Now Bucky feels bad. Comforted at the same time. As the headship, Steve can technically tell him to go to hell, that he’s going to go with him whether he wants him to or not. He _shouldn’t_. It’s not really the way a headship is supposed to work, unless, of course, Steve thinks it’s in the best interest of the House and their family for him to accompany Bucky everyday. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen in plenty of Houses, especial those in High Society. 

“You know you _can_ come if that’s what you want. I can’t really stop you.” He answers first, a tiny, insignificant part of him somewhat hoping he will. “You’re the headship and all. And I work in rehabilitation.”  
“Physical rehabilitation?”  
“That’s right. I work a lot with amputees, but anyone with any physical disability that needs help with mobility and functional ability.”  
“Did you start that before…”  
Steve cuts himself off, but Bucky knows what he was going for. “Yes, Steve, I started _before_ I got the metal arm.” 

His husband looks down. He hasn’t insulted him though. Lot’s of people are curious about his arm, and not many people know that much about it. No one but Bucky knows the full story anyway--and it’s one he’s been carrying heavy in his heart for a decade. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve apologizes. “I shouldn’t have…”  
“No, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Relief settles in Steve’s eyes only to turn awkwardness less than a breath later. 

“Can I… use one of my questions? To ask…”

He trails off the same way he had just a moment ago. Once again, Bucky knows exactly what he wants to know. This question is different though, and he brings his arm from off the table and onto his lap where it’s less visible. 

“No, well, I mean… it was frostbite, if that’s what you want to know, but I’d rather not…”  
“You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Steve interrupts. “And I would never do that by the way.”  
“Do what?”  
“Use being the headship to make you do something you don’t want to do. Unless I felt it was absolutely necessary. I’m not a bully.”

Bucky can barely remember saying that now, but he had suggested it just a few minutes ago. 

“You don’t like bullies.” He points out, picturing that little kid who could barely balance on his own two feet trying to fight back a kid twice his size.  
“No, I don’t. I’m not going to take advantage of you, Bucky. Just because it’s within my right to do something, doesn’t mean it _makes_ it right.”

Unsure what to say to that, Bucky eats another piece of chicken even though he’s already full. The food rolls around in his mouth, not giving him any help in figuring out what to say. 

“You don’t have to count that as one of your questions.” He settles on.

Steve blinks at him a few times before his eyebrows pull in together. 

“What?”  
“Your question about my arm? You can still have three.”  
One side of Steve’s mouth pulls up into a crooked smile. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll ask one on our way back tomorrow.”  
“Tomorrow?”  
“Yeah. In the morning.”

Body getting tense, Bucky’s stomach flips. Nerves invade his muscles, making them twitch and tighten. 

“Um, does that mean… tonight you’ll want to…”

Steve sucks in a deep breath through his nostrils. He looks as nervous as Bucky feels. 

“You know what? No. Why don’t we save that?”  
Bucky almost laughs at his husband again. “You want to save it? For what? Marriage?”

The way his eyes narrow at him, Bucky knows he’s not amused by his wit this time. Insides twisting, he flicks his lip under his teeth. 

“Sorry.” Bucky whispers. 

Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat that causes Bucky’s stomach to pull even tighter. He doesn’t say anything about Bucky’s remark though.

“I was _actually_ thinking we would wait until we both _want_ to. Doesn’t feel right, having sex just because Society expects us to. I’d rather it be natural, happen when the time’s right.”  
“What if…” After his last comment annoyed Steve, Bucky’s nervous again to ask anything. Steve said he wouldn’t take advantage of him, but that doesn’t mean Bucky can just do whatever he wants. But Steve nods in encouragement, giving Bucky the go-ahead to say whatever it is that’s on his mind. “What it the both of us… or one of us is never ready?”  
“I don’t need sex to be intimate…” Steve blushes and then revises his statement, “to feel close to someone. If we never have sex, we never have sex.”  
“But, if we don’t consummate, you can…”  
“I’m not going to leave over that.” He shrugs. “No one is going to check anyway. Doesn’t work like that anymore. Sex or no sex, I’ll still do what’s in my power to make you happy, to see to it that this marriage works. But…” And Steve locks his gaze with Bucky’s. His eyes are so intense that Bucky can’t look away. “I can’t do that on my own. I might be the headship, sure, but I can’t steer this marriage all alone. I’m going to need your help.”

Finally tearing away from the powerful hold of Steve’s eyes, Bucky fiddles a bit with his fingers. Steve Rogers in private is nothing like the Steve Rogers in public. This man is much more confident than the one in interviews and at public events. Bucky, on the other hand, soaks up the public attention--though, Steve is completely right when saying Bucky doesn’t mind letting someone else have it. While he soaks up that attention, Bucky’s so much more awkward in private company. Already, he feels like he’s made a bumbling fool of himself several times. 

So far as he can tell, Steve is asking right now if Bucky is going to try to help out in this marriage. Bucky knows he’s given this a bad start, hasn’t helped much at all. Getting drunk at their wedding, not being able to consummate because of it, running off, shutting down--at least Steve doesn’t know about Brock. He needs to fix this as best he can. If he loses this marriage, who knows what will happen to his family--his _former_ family.

“I gave you my vow, Steve.” He tells him. “I… I expect to be held to it.”

Steve accepts that answer with a nod, but there’s also disappointment buried in the crease between his eyebrows. Perhaps he was hoping for a stronger commitment, for Bucky to _want_ to honor it. Bucky doesn’t blame him. Trying to imagine this scenario they’ve found themselves in in reverse, Bucky’s pretty sure he’d hope the person who married up to him would want to be in said relationship, too. But he can’t give that to Steve. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

_Are you sure?_ Both his heart and brain wonder. _Are you sure you can’t give him more right now?_

Bucky can’t answer them. 

He’s not sure which answer would be a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 of NaNoWriMo and I'm almost up to 40,000 words!! I should be done with that and posting in a few days!
> 
> For anyone interested, in following me on tumblr I'm at
> 
> [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com)!
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) As usual here are some lovely visuals for everyone to enjoy:
> 
> This is how I imagine Bucky trying to fight back his smile when Steve compliments him. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bucky flashing Steve his more "for the public" smile
> 
>  
> 
> And then Steve listening to Bucky talk in the kitchen
> 
>  
> 
> This one makes me weak at the knees. Steve wanting to kiss Bucky.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope to see you all next week!


	7. Chapter 7

Two weeks have gone by in the blink of an eye. So much has happened and yet so little has changed between Steve and Bucky. When Steve brought Bucky to the place they’d be calling home together, he was happy to see Bucky’s eyes doubling in size upon seeing it, glittering with wonder as he took it in. 

Steve loves his place. The cast iron gate in front of the steps creaks when it opens, its own way of always welcoming him, and now Bucky, home. Unique to his three story building are the built in bay windows on the first floor. Like the farmhouse, the place has windows galore, most of them overlooking the park, the back ones having a fantastic view of the Manhattan Isle skyline, twinkling lights and comforting fog. 

When they got inside--only after Steve teased Bucky about it being House tradition to carry him over the threshold--“Please tell me you’re joking.” “I’m joking, Bucky.”--Bucky had wandered around the first floor, absently letting his eyes and fingers run over the walnut walls, the window frames, the fixtures, fireplace mantles and built in bookshelves. Like he needed to test if they were real, Bucky’s right hand wrapped around all the copper door knobs. He looked up to see the moldings around the arched doors and the tray ceilings, both high and spacious, and let his fingers graze the polished, wooden banister, but he didn’t go upstairs until Steve brought him there and to the first room on the left.

“Your room.” He told him. 

Bucky’s eyes got impossibly wider when he was shown his suite, boxes and crates piled up inside of it. 

“We’re not gonna…” Bucky started to ask. “Oh. You wanna wait for that, too?”  
Steve shrugged. “Figured it’d be more comfortable for you this way right now.”

Bucky hadn’t replied to that directly. Instead, he pointed to all the things in there already, surrounding the queen-sized bed and piled in front of the brick fireplace. 

“What’s all this?”  
Steve glanced down at him. “Your stuff, of course.”

The way Bucky glanced up at him, his eyes full of surprise and even complete shock, made Steve desperate to know what was running through his mind. 

“You sent for my things?”  
Steve tried not to sigh. “I told you, Bucky, I want to make this go as smoothly as possible. Forcing you to get new things? How would that help? It’d probably only make you hate me more.” Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, knowing the things in Bucky’s boxes don’t want him there, Steve cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess maybe you want to go through everything. Sorry. It’s gotta be on your own. At least today.”  
“Hard work,” Buck grunted. “Got it.”  
“Yeah. Well… uh, I’ll be… in the library,” He pointed with his thumb down the hall. “If you need me. Or I’ll just get you when it’s time for lunch.”

He had turned to make a quick exit, trying to escape the accusations of Bucky’s things, hastily packed up and carted away against their will. Just before he could get out the door though, Bucky’s hand took hold of his fingers. For a minute or two, they just stood there, Bucky’s hand wrapped around Steve’s fingers, until Bucky moved towards him, slow and hesitant. His husband leaned into his side a bit, and Steve had to restrain himself from pulling him into his arms. 

“I don’t hate you, Steve.” Bucky murmured, before quickly moving away and stepping into the room. 

***

That’s probably been the nicest thing Steve’s husband has said to him since then. Steve has no idea if something happened while Bucky was unpacking his things or if unpacking his things just made the entire situation all too real for him, but Bucky’s been less than pleasant since arriving here. 

Steve has tried on several occasions to get him to open up again, maybe to play their question and answer game, all to no avail. He’s quiet during breakfast--and most definitely not a morning person--silent during supper, and wordless in between. Whatever answers _do_ come out of his mouth are nothing more than grunted and mumbled words. He’s snapped at Steve a few times as well, usually over little things like Steve asking how his day was. Bucky’s let out an unrestrained attitude as though that will somehow make this situation better. Steve has yet to address this issue, but if it keeps up, he knows he has to do something. He shouldn’t be letting him get away with it at all, not as the headship, but they’re in private. No one around to accuse him of being incapable of leading his family.

The once open and inviting rooms of his--now their--home are tense, just waiting for Bucky to lash out at any second. Steve knows that Bucky needs time to adjust, and he wants to give it to him. The problem is, Steve has to begin teaching Bucky some of the Rogers’ rules and customs. Christmastide is coming in just a few short weeks and the family will expect to see some those traditions being utilized by the newest member of the House. Bucky doesn’t hold his knife and fork right, his table etiquette is slightly different than what it needs to be, Steve needs to prepare him for the Rogers’ affectionate greetings--Bucky will be hugged and kissed by nearly every relative that he’ll meet--he has to learn the family prayer, and that’s just some of the basics. 

More important to Steve than any of that, he doesn’t want Bucky to be miserable with him. He wants this to be a happy home, and, right now, he’s at a total loss at how to get them started on such a course. In the short time they’ve been together, he’s starting to see that public Bucky Barnes and private Bucky Barnes are two very distinct people. When not masked with anger, Bucky is much more unsure of himself, and even shy, somewhat bashful. That’s the Bucky that Steve wants to come back out, only he doesn’t know how to do that, short of pulling rank on his husband, which, is pretty much the last thing he wants to do to him. 

“Marmalade, m’Lord?”

Steve glances up from the table in, away from the marble top that’s had his attention for quite some time now. Too bad it can’t talk back to him. With all the intricate dark swirls in the hard, cream-colored top, he’s always wondered what’d it say. He’s eating breakfast in the morning room off the kitchen, but missed what was said to him. 

“Sorry?”  
“Would you and Lord Barnes like marmalade on the table this morning, m’Lord?”  
“Oh. Um, yes, please, Truvie. Thank you.”

Truvie offers a small grin and places the jar on the table and a spreading knife next to it. The sun coming in through the large windows on the east wall catches on some of the brown hair peeking out from under her kerchief. 

Steve thanks her and as usual she replies with, “Always my pleasure, sir.”

“You can put the milk away, Truvie,” He tells her. “Bucky doesn’t take it in his coffee.”

Bucky hasn’t joined him yet, though that’s not so unusual. Steve’s been up for nearly two hours already, having gone for his usual run with Sam right after waking. Sam’s been quite supportive, each and every morning, even though Steve hasn’t talked too much about his new marriage.

“This whole thing is new for him, Steve. Give the guy some time. He’ll warm up to you. Everyone does.”  
“What if he doesn’t, Sam? I… I don’t want to make him miserable. And I… I like him.”  
“I can tell. This is different for both of you, but Bucky’s life’s been uprooted. Probably gonna take a while to adjust.”

Steve tries to keep this in mind everytime he and Bucky are in the same room, even more so when his husband now comes ambling into the morning room. One side of his hair is pressed against his head, the other messy and pointing in all directions. Eyes droopy and lips smacking together, he barely acknowledges that there’s even anyone else in the room with him as he plops down in the seat on the other end of the table. 

“Good morning.” Steve greets.

Bucky jerks his chin in response.

“Sleep well?”

He shrugs and doesn’t say anything. 

“Would you like some coffee, Lord Barnes?” Truvie asks, holding the porcelain coffee pot up. 

All Bucky does is hold out the coffee cup at the setting meant for him. Steve bites his tongue as Truvie pours the coffee for him. He wants to tell Bucky to answer Truvie, wants to make it very clear that she’s there to _help_ not to _serve_. It’s not everyday that Bucky does this. Sometimes he _does_ speak to Truvie, always well-mannered and respectful. Other times, he’ll barely glance in her direction when she does something for him, let alone thank her for it. 

Steve is spreading the marmalade on a piece of toast when Truvie places Bucky’s platter of shirred eggs and toast soldiers on the plate in front of him. Perhaps the grunt he gives is Bucky’s attempt at passing along a thanks, but it goes no further than that. Taking a bite of his toast, Steve debates whether or not he should bring up learning Rogers’ customs some time tonight as Bucky takes his first bite of breakfast.

The second it’s in his mouth, he grimaces and flings the fork down. Steve stops mid-chew and stares at him. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Bucky growls at Truvie. “Is it _that_ hard to make a decent egg around this place? This is cooked too much! How am I supposed to dip my toast in this when the yolk is practically solid?”

Steve has heard him speak like this a few times already, always directed at him. His husband has had these angry outbursts before, and Steve has been trying to come up with a way to deal with them. He’s never seen or heard him act this way towards some of the staff, and frankly, he’s too stunned to react beyond that initial slack-jawed stare. But Truvie’s face is calm, her lips set in a line, and she bows her head towards Bucky. 

“My apologies, m’Lord,” She says as she takes the eggs away. “I’ll…”  
“You’re not going to do anything.” Steve says to her, his brain snapping back to reality. “Leave the eggs where they are. If he doesn’t like them, _he_ can remake them. And do not apologize to him for anything.” He turns his gaze onto Bucky, who seems caught between wanting to look at his lap and glare at Steve. “And _you_ …” Wiping his mouth clean, Steve tosses his cloth napkin aside and rises to his feet. “ _You_ come with me.”

The room has gotten remarkably smaller, the tension now so thick it’s almost hard not to feel it stirring all around them. Still, Steve marches through it, pausing only when he’s adjacent to Bucky’s seat. His husband is staring up at him, expression somewhere in the middle of nervous and surprised.

“ _Now_.” Steve orders and only starts moving again when Bucky stands. 

Steve knows Bucky is following him, only because some of the floorboards squeak when he steps on them, each harsh noise a constant reminder of the way he spoke to Truvie. He brings Bucky through the dining room and into the parlor. It’s sunny in there, light pouring in from the bay windows and casting their shadows long across the floor. The room is silent, anxious, as it waits for something to happen. 

“Steve…”

Turning around to face his husband, Steve see’s a hard furrow between his eyebrows and, when Bucky looks up, the sunlight shines in his eyes.

“No.” Steve says before Bucky can speak again, though it doesn’t look like he has much to say anyway. “You let me talk for now. What happened in there? Totally unacceptable. You want to take your anger out on _me_? I’ll figure out a way to deal with it and how to deal with you. But Truvie? _Any_ one else? Never. I will _not_ put up with it. The people who work here work hard, to earn a living. They have families and friends and no matter what their status is it is _never_ okay to abuse them, do you understand me?”

Lips curled up in an anger purse, Bucky’s eyes, hard and defiant, are lowered to about Steve’s chest. Fire and ice. He nods.

“I can’t hear you, Bucky.”  
“Yes, Steve,” Bucky mutters, teeth still clenched. “I understand.”

Steve sucks in an angry breath, and releases a much calmer one. Irritation still very real and showing on his face and in his eyes, he tries speaking just a little softer. 

“I’m trying here, Bucky.” He says. “I really am. You told me that you expect to be held to your vows. To my headship? Obedience? Did you mean that? Any of it? Cause if I’m on my own in this…”

He stops when Bucky drops his head down. There’s a slight quiver in his husband’s shoulders and when he looks back up, his expression is entirely different. No longer are his eyes cold or hard, his jaw isn’t crushed, there’s no anger on his face at all. Instead, tears fill his eyes, his bottom lip quivers and when his mouth opens Steve can just hear the hint of a whimper. Ice melted, fire quenched. 

“I’m sorry…” Bucky breathes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

All the tension completely washes out of Steve. Bucky looks so lost and helpless, a whisper of a frightened child, that there’s no chance for him to hold onto an ounce of the anger he felt just a moment ago.

“Did… did something happen?”  
Bucky nods once. “Yeah. I got married, Steve. I married someone I don’t know, someone who’s so nice and sweet and caring, and the only reason I did it was because I had to since my family needed a dowry…”

He claps his hand over his mouth as though that could somehow push the words back in and make them unheard. Bucky looks at Steve like he’s afraid he’s wounded him.

“It’s okay, Bucky. I get that. I’m never going to hold that against you or the House of Barnes.”

The unshed tears finally spill out over the edges of Bucky’s eyes. His head falls forward like it’s too heavy for him to hold up anymore. Then he shocks Steve by taking a slow, measured step towards him, and another, and another, until he’s right in front of him. There, he rests the edge of his brow against Steve’s chest. Steve can feel his body trembling and hear his jagged breaths.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” He whimpers. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

Before Bucky even finishes his tearful apology, Steve engulfs him into his arms, Bucky practically being consumed by his embrace. He’s wanted to hold him like this since he saw how nervous he was in the Chapel. Although this is not the ideal situation to finally be able to have his husband in his arms, he _is_ glad that Bucky sought and accepts his affection. It’s like he desperately needs this. Maybe he’s only come to Steve because he’s the only option, but it still means something to him. 

He just holds him for a few seconds before replying, “It’s okay, Bucky. I’m here for you. I promise.”  
“You’re not gonna leave me, right? I understand if you do. I… I know I’ve been a horrible husband, but I can… do better. I swear I can.”  
“Aw, Bucky, I’m not gonna leave you. Not for this.” Steve assures him. “I might be bigger now, but I swear, I’m still that little punk who wouldn’t back down from a fight. Honest.”

For some reason, that just makes Bucky cry even harder. He’s stays tucked deep in Steve’s arms though and when his breathing starts to get heavy, he hugs Steve back, fingers gripping tightly onto the back of his shirt. Face buried in Steve’s chest, he trembles and gasps and just lets loose a stream of endless tears and sobs.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” He blubbers. “I don’t know w-what’s wrong with me…”  
“A lots happened?” Steve offers. “Fast, too. I mean… your father died, what, five months ago?”  
“Four.” Bucky whispers. 

Steve sighs into his husband’s hair. This isn’t fair; none of it is. Bucky’s had no time to mourn the loss of his father. Instead, he needed to marry; marry up at that in order to help his family. 

“Just tell me what you need.” Steve murmurs. “I’ll do whatever I can for you. Do you want me to have Truvie phone the hospital? Tell them you’re running late? Or not coming today?”  
“No…” Bucky clings onto him tighter. “Not yet. Please. Just… can we stay like this?”  
“Of course.”

Running his hand up and down his husband’s back, Steve keeps Bucky in his arms as he cries some more into his shirt. 

Their shadows have grown smaller by the time Bucky’s tears begin to dry up and his breathing settles. When Steve feels him try to move away, he let’s him, but can’t help wishing he’d stay close to him like that. Bucky touches the spot on Steve’s shirt where his tears have been soaked up.

“Your shirt.” Bucky comments. “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be. It’s okay.” Steve assures, brushing his thumb under Bucky’s eye to wipe away some leftover moisture. “Do you feel better? No, don’t answer that. Stupid question.”  
“It’s not stupid.” he replies. “I don’t know how I feel. I…” Whatever he wanted to say is changed to, “I guess I should just get ready for work?”

Already Steve can sense those walls going back up around Bucky. The sun in the room is beaming onto the both of them, but when Bucky takes one step back--putting the most distance between them since he started crying--it puts him just out of the light’s reach. It’s almost like he’s condemning himself to cold and darkness. Steve wants to pull him back into the sunshine. Warm him and hold him close. Afraid of making those walls Bucky keeps up thicker, Steve stays where he is. 

“I, uh, I’m going to have to insist…”

Bucky quickly nods his head like he already knows what Steve is going to tell him.

“I’ll apologize to Truvie.” He promises, sniffling a little more as if he might start tearing up again. “There’s no need to take it out on the world just because I don’t want to be here.”

Steve’s not sure what he expects from Bucky so soon, but hearing that is like a kick to his stomach. He already knows that his husband is here against his will, but, well, having him say it out loud hurts in ways that Steve is just not prepared for. 

When Bucky groans and throws his face in his hands, rocking his head back and forth, Steve does take that one step closer to him. 

“Bucky?”

Lowering his hands, he sighs and looks just about ready to crawl into bed and sleep for days. 

“I always say the wrong thing to you.” He grunts. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”  
“It was honest.” Steve hopes the hurt he feels isn’t coming out with his voice. “I can’t ask for more than that. I want you to be yourself.”  
“But… this _isn’t_ being myself,” Bucky sighs and massages between his eyes. “I’m not this person. This angry, rude person.” He groans a bit and then looks up at Steve, his expression pleading and almost desperate. “I’m a shitty person, yeah, but not this person. I don’t know how you do it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. He’s not going to comment on the remark his husband has made about being a shitty person, but he is storing it away for further inspection.

“Do? Do what?”  
“You’re so… _good_ at this. You’re just so confident already, like… you just _know_ what to do or something.”  
“Me? _Good_? At this?” He shakes his head, shocked at what he’s been told. “Bucky, I’m absolutely terrified.” Steve places his hands softly on Bucky’s shoulders. “I have _no_ idea what I’m doing. I’m so worried that I’m going to ruin your life, ruin my life, shame the House… I… I’m terrified.”  
“You are? You don’t… act like it. I mean… oh man. I’m sorry. Again. I… Steve, I’m sorry. Look, I know I’ve already gotten one from you, but, can I have a do-over? Pretend these two weeks… didn’t happen?”

Looking over him, Steve wonders how he’s ever going to deny this man anything if he can give him such an endearing expression. The way Bucky gazes up at him so innocently, eyes full of mystery and intrigue, stars and sugar, it should be illegal. And Steve is sure his husband has plenty more illegal expressions up his sleeve. 

“Come on.” Steve instructs, gently taking hold of Bucky’s right wrist and leading him out of the parlor.

As he heads with Bucky towards the front door, Bucky wiggles his wrist a little to shimmy out of Steve’s grip, only to then lace their fingers instead. Steve smiles. He doesn’t know if this is his way of trying to make up for his behavior or to show Steve he really does intend on trying. Perhaps he genuinely craves the contact. The latter is Steve clinging onto hope, but maybe it is a possibility.

When they get outside, right on the other side of the door, Steve can’t help but laugh at Bucky’s bemused face. He can see Bucky’s skin quiver though, and it’s not surprising. The cool winds of autumn are out in full force, tickling any exposed skin with they’re teasing fingers. Bucky’s only wearing pajamas.

“What are we…”

Steve puts his fingers against Bucky’s lips to keep him from questioning anything else.

“I’m the headship,” He grins. “No backtalk.”

Mouth falling open, Bucky looks quite scandalized but then makes a funny sound in the back of his throat when Steve suddenly scoops him up into his arms. 

“What’re you…?”  
“I said no backtalk.” But he spares his husband when he folds his lips in and winks, mouth twitching into a mischievous smirk. “If it’s a do-over you want, I’ll give it to you. But I’m carrying you over the threshold this time. Not House Rogers custom, but maybe we’ll start it as one.” He takes one step back into the house, Bucky’s arms wrapped around his neck. “And maybe it’ll bring us some luck.”

Still in Steve’s arms, Bucky smiles at him. It’s a warm smile, one that Steve knows is real. Thick like syrup, sweet like honey. He’s seen it in candid shots of Bucky. Nights out with his friends and someone snaps an unsuspecting photograph, one that will appear in the paper’s leisure section and make everyone weak at the knees. Steve’s sure of it, since he feels pretty weak-kneed at the moment. 

“Can… can I speak now?”  
“Sure.” Steve laughs. “I never said you couldn’t talk. Just no backtalk.”  
“Thank you, Steve.” Bucky pulls his smile back, but it’s still there. “Can I backtalk now?”  
“Mm. I’d rather you not. But you can still be a smart ass.”  
“Oh good. Then would you mind putting me down?”

He makes his request lightly, as if he’s both serious and teasing at the same time. For a second, Steve wonders whether or not being put down is really what Bucky wants. 

Head lowering slightly, their brows almost close enough to touch, Steve lets out a silent sigh. He doesn’t _want_ to put Bucky down. If it was up to him, he’d hold onto him like this for as long as he was permitted. Bucky’s soft, and it feels good to have him so close. He’s tense at the moment, except for the arms around Steve’s neck. They’re loose, like he trusts Steve not to drop him. It’s something. 

“Steve?”

Steve rattles his head.

“Sure.” He says, placing Bucky back on his feet. “Sorry.”

Bucky scratches at the back of his head, his locks of messy, brown hair stirring with the movement. 

“S’okay.” He bites his lower lip, a tell Steve is beginning to see whenever his husband is feeling awkward. “I should go get ready for work… oh, wait. Did you… should I apologize first? To Truvie? Or… how do you want me to handle that?”  
“Apologize later. Get ready for work now. You sure you don’t want me to phone them? Let them know you’ll be late?”  
“No. It’s okay. Dr. Odinson will be okay with me being a little late.”  
“Alright. Go on and get ready.”  
“Okay.”

Bucky heads towards the stairs and even starts up them. He stops though, after only climbing halfway. For a few moments, he just stands there, hand on the railing, unmoving. A little worried, Steve moves to the bottom of the staircase and is about to say something when Bucky takes in a deep breath.

“Steve?”  
“Yeah, Bucky?”

His back is still to him, but Steve can tell his body is stiff and rigid before he turns around. There’s a conflict going on inside Bucky’s head. Steve can see it in his eyes as two, maybe more, sides argue back and forth. When one of those sides comes out victorious, Bucky’s bottom lip is tucked back under his teeth. 

“Do you think…” His eyebrows pull together. “Would you want to come with me today? I mean, not to work, or, I guess you could if you wanted, but, do you want to ride with me today?”  
Taking the first few steps, but remaining lower than Bucky, he replies, “Would you like me to? I already told you, I can work from City Hall just as easily as I can from home.”  
Bucky takes a few seconds to think about that. “You like working from home.”

That much is true. Steve is comfortable at home, feels safe in the privacy of his office as he goes over cases. Plus, it gives him time to work on other projects of his; projects only a select few know about. 

“I do. But if you want me to come with you, I’ll work from there instead. Do you want me to come?”  
Bucky shrugs. “If you wanna.”

Steve can see what’s happening here, or at least, thinks he does. Bucky’s avoiding asking him outright. There is so much that Steve wants to give him, is actually fairly sure he’ll give this man anything to make him smile. But, Steve needs to hear these words from Bucky himself. 

“Do _you_ want me to come, Bucky? I’d be happy to, but only if you want it. Just say the word and I will.”

Though Bucky his looking down at his feet, Steve can see his lips twisting around. 

“I don’t…” The words appear to be stuck in Bucky’s throat, maybe blocked by different ones. “Maybe just this once? I don’t want to be alone.”

The sunlight streaming into the long hallway dances with glee at this admission, and Steve lights up with it.

“Okay. Get ready. I’ll meet you at the door.”

There’s a smile on Bucky’s face again, this time carefully not getting too wide, and he finishes up the stairs without another word. 

Working out of City Hall means Steve needs to dress appropriately rather than lounging in his office wearing casual clothes. It’s not often that he needs to dress in such a manner. He’s much more fond of just having his shirt buttoned only up to the chest, not needing to have a vest on, leaving all his sack coats lonely on their hangers. But he is a gentleman of Society, so today he buttons his top button, dons a light grey vest and red ascot, wraps himself in his charcoal sack coat and tops himself off with his black derby. Trousers pressed--courtesy of Truvie’s need to alway be prepared--and shoes shined, Steve heads back downstairs to meet Bucky.

His husband is already in the front entry waiting for him. Bucky is dressed similarly--burgundy vest, black stuff tie, charcoal frock coat. Professional and a proper representation of his status. His derby is currently located in his hands as he spin it between his palms. 

Leaned up against the wall, Bucky looks so much more relaxed and comfortable than Steve ever feels in a suit. This is hardly the first time Steve’s seen him ready for work--he’s made an effort to see him out every morning, even though Bucky hasn’t been enthusiastic about that at all. Each time he sees Bucky all dressed up though, it’s like he’s struck by the sophistication and charm that practically oozes from him. all over again.

Sunbeams scatter around Bucky. Personal spotlights waiting to shine on him when he decides to grace the world with his presence. Since Bucky still hasn’t noticed Steve on the middle of the stairs, he takes a few more moments to just watch him. He wants so badly to make Bucky happy, or, at the very least, content. Steve worries he’ll never be able to do that. Bucky wants nothing to do with this marriage or with Steve. He said he didn’t hate him, but there’s still a long way to go from not hating to even liking. As far as Steve knows, Bucky is simply tolerating him, when already Steve wants to soak him all in. It’s a crazy notion, this urgent and powerful need to _know_ Bucky, the want to be near and with him, and Steve supposes he’s not the first one to feel so enamored with the man. He’s just so _charming_ , in every sense of the word. An addictive person, sweet with a dash of spice.

So much so that Steve takes hold of the smooth, wooden banister to keep balance when he sways slightly. Some light catches on both Bucky’s left hand and the chain of the pocket watch he always has on him when he shifts to face him. The light glares at Steve for watching Bucky when he thought the moment to be private, hitting him harshly in the eyes.

“Sorry.” Bucky says as he turns his hand so that the illumination isn’t on Steve anymore.  
“S’okay. I deserved it.”  
Bucky tilts his head. “What? Why?”  
“Nothing. Never mind. Are you ready?”

With a smile--maybe forced, maybe not, Steve’s not sure--Bucky flips the hat over his arm and up on his head. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He snickers. “Of course I’m ready.”  
Steve scoffs and starts down the rest of the steps. “So sorry, your majesty. I beg your forgiveness.”  
“Mm…” Bucky smacks his lips together. “I’ll forgive you this one time. Try not to let it happen again.”

An anxious laugh hits Steve hard enough that his whole body shakes. It’s been a trying morning. Hopefully it’s just the nerves. 

“Come on, Bucky.” He goes to hold his right arm out, thinks better of it and offers his left instead. 

Bucky takes a second or two to just look at the offer. Just when Steve is about to pull back, his husband not only twines their arms together, he leans into Steve’s side for a moment before straightening back up. He’s staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the door, waiting for Steve to move.

Baby steps. That’s the only way this is going to work. No matter how badly Steve wants to kiss Bucky, even just give him a peck atop the head, he holds back. Baby steps.

“Can I take a turn?” Steve asks when they’re almost at the Military Compound where Bucky works.

They’re in the covered cabin of the motorcar, of course, so it’s a little warmer in there despite the morning chill in the air. Steve always makes sure that his driver, Stiles, has a blanket with him. It’s a bumpy ride, the motorcar vibrating as it moves and shaking a bit more when it stops. The seats are comfortable though, plush and accepting of the added weight of their bodies, and the cabin is very spacious.

The two of them have been pretty quiet the whole ride, a little awkward, a little comfortable. They are side by side though, very little distance between them.

“A turn?” Bucky questions.  
“Yeah. It’s still my turn, isn’t it?”  
“To ask a question.” He smiles with understanding. “You get three still.”  
“I don’t need to use all three right away, do I?”  
“I suppose not.” He fakes a disgruntled pout. Steve can tell. His eyes are still shining brightly, ice glistening instead of hardening. “I just have to wait to go until you’re finished. Rules of the game, you know.”  
“Etched in stone?”  
“You bet.” He chuckles lightly. “What’s your question?”  
Steve sucks in a deep breath and on the exhale asks, “Are you cold?”  
“Huh?”  
“Cold. Are you?” Steve sighs. “That wasn’t even a sentence. I’m asking if you’re cold. Right now.”  
“That’s really your question?”  
“Sorta. There’s more. It’s kind of a two part question. If that’s allowed.”

His husband eyes him suspiciously, twisting his lips like he debating whether or not he should let Steve get away with this. 

“Yeah. I guess it is.” Bucky’s expression hasn’t changed. “And you want to know if I’m cold?” Steve nods. “Um. Yeah. I am. A little.” He looks away as though embarrassed by that. Or maybe that Steve had picked up on it. “Second part?”  
“The second part is, do you like when someone warms you up?”

Bucky pulls his head back and blinks a couple of time. His eyes glance around the cabin, seeking something Steve’s can’t see. 

“I feel like this is a trick question.” He admits after a few seconds.  
“Not a trick question.” Steve replies. “Maybe a loaded question, but not a trick question.”

Teeth pressed into his lower lip, Bucky looks as though he’s trying to sort out something complicated. 

“Why do you want to know?” He counters.  
Steve shakes his head. “Since when do we need to explain the questions?”  
Groaning softly, Bucky leans his head back. “Okay, okay. Um, well…” He’s having trouble coming out with this answer. “No, uh, fine. Yes. I do. I like it very much.”

This admission makes Bucky’s face turn red. Steve can’t imagine why. He’s already figured out that he doesn’t like being cold. It’s not all the surprising that he likes being warmed up. 

“Okay.” Steve nods and then turns to face forward again, only noticing now that he’d shifted to face Bucky. “I’ll save the next two for another time.”  
“Wait…” Bucky hesitates. “That’s it? You’re not gonna…”

He doesn’t finish that, but Steve gets the idea. Admittedly, he might have hoped for this.

“What? Something you want?” He teases. Bucky folds his lips in and before he can say anything, Steve opens his arms a little. “If you want. It’s up to you. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to.”

Bucky looks nervous, and maybe torn between letting Steve hold him and holding on strong to not letting Steve do much of anything for him. He fiddles with his fingers for a bit, not looking over at Steve who’s keeping his arms out just enough to present the invitation. Steve is amazed that he’s not shaking, since he’s so terrified right now he would be having an asthma attack if he still suffered them. 

He doesn’t want to pull back though, to take the offer off the table, so to speak. Steve wants to show Bucky that the option will always be there, whether he takes it or not. 

Steve is startled though, when Bucky is suddenly in his arms. His husband moves so fast, so fluidly, that he barely has the time to notice it until he’s pressed up against him. They’re both stiff and, in the strange position they’ve found themselves, Bucky is just haphazardly up against Steve’s chest. The seat underneath him encourages Steve to make them more comfortable. Taking its advice, Steve shifts them so that he’s leaning in the corner of the cabin, giving Bucky the chance to settle better on him. Which he does. 

Bucky moves a bit, repositioning himself enough that Steve can feel some of the awkward tension drift away from his body. Already knowing some of the ways Bucky enjoys being touched, Steve pets his hair. 

The first time his hand moves across his husband’s head, Bucky freezes. Steve doesn’t stop though. Instead, he makes the touch just a little lighter, and then gradually increases the pressure as Bucky warms up to it. This is private-Bucky. The one he never shows to the public. The one Steve doubts many have had the pleasure of meeting. Unlike public-Bucky, this Bucky begins to melt into the affection, loves the physical attention, but it much too shy to ask for it himself.

“Cats, huh?” Steve murmurs when Bucky becomes relaxed in his embrace, maybe even enough to fall asleep. “No wonder they’re your favorite. You practically _are_ one.”

Steve can feel Bucky smile against his chest, but he doesn’t respond. Shy and awkward. He does, however, slip his left arm around Steve’s waist. 

They remain like that the rest of the ride. Every now and then, Steve will run his hand over Bucky’s hair and sometimes Bucky will rub his head into Steve’s body a little more when he does so. When the vehicle pulls over, Steve glances out the window. He feels Bucky do the same thing before he lifts himself back up. 

Gaze on Bucky as he stares out the window, Steve thinks he might be wishing he didn’t have to get out now. There’s a small crease between his eyes and his lips are slightly pursed. It’s possible that he just doesn’t want to go to work, but Steve is hoping it’s more than that. When Bucky’s eyes drift to Steve, Steve gives him a smile. Pressing his lips together, Bucky moves away completely now, just as Stiles opens his door to let him out. 

“Um, thank you, Steve.” Bucky whispers. “For coming today.”

The way he says this, like he’s surprised that Steve actually followed through with his offer, makes Steve want to hold him again. Hold him until Bucky understands that he really _does_ intend to take care of him, to make him happy if he can, to maybe, one day, love him. Love him more than he might already.

“I’ll come in everyday if it makes you happy.”  
“Hm. I could probably get used to be held like that every morning. But… you like to work from home, and I’m easily spoiled. Trust me.”  
“We can work something out. And I never said I wasn’t going to spoil you.”

Though he’s facing forward, Steve can see the corners of Bucky’s lips twitch, even if he ultimately holds back the smile. 

“I’m becoming even more convinced that you married me just to start some sort of scandal. Whoever heard of the headship spoiling their spouse?”  
Steve chuckles. “It happens. You should meet the Wilsons. You’ll see how much Lady Wilson spoils Lord Wilson. It’s cute. Now go on. You’re letting all the cold air in and I won’t have you to keep warm anymore.”

This time, Bucky doesn’t hold in the smile, or maybe he can’t. He faces Steve. There’s some expression on his face, something Steve can’t really decipher. He’s never seen that look before. 

“I’ll see you later, husband.” Bucky says, and then quickly leans in, pecks Steve’s cheek with a kiss, and dashes out the door. 

Steve touches the spot Bucky just kissed. It’s tingly and warm, and a smile pulls up on his mouth. 

Strike wanting to love Bucky someday.

Steve is pretty damn sure he’s in love with him right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, as promised, NaNoWriMo did not take away from my updating this :) In fact, I _finished_ my NaNoWriMo already! WooHoo! If anyone is interested in taking a peek at that, I've started posting Rock and Roll Chose Me
> 
> Check out [here :)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2607245/chapters/5809226)
> 
> Alright, I do have a bit of a dilemma, sorta, and a question for my readers and I'd love for even my silent readers to weigh in on this. I normally don't write such long chapters and I do like to keep ahead of what I post, as is the case with this work. So I do have more written out already, and a lot of times with this work, I have chapters that I tend to split up because I feel like they're getting way too long ((read as 10,000+ words too long)). My question is, would you like me to sometimes post those chapters together? I know that sometimes reading them split up can be a bit of a pain ((life getting in the way between chapters and all)) this way you can choose where to stop reading and pick up again? If I do this though, there may be a bit of a longer wait between updates. 
> 
> Just wanted to get your opinion on the matter. Longer updates at once or shorter updates with less waiting?? 
> 
> Either way, have some gifs!
> 
> Here we have Bucky getting scolded
> 
>  
> 
> Bucky smiling with Steve in the back of the car
> 
>  
> 
> Steve having to scold Bucky
> 
>  
> 
> And finally, ignoring the uniform ((but hot damn doesn't he look so amazing in it??)) this is the face I would picture Steve making after Bucky kisses his cheek right before he gets out of the car
> 
>  
> 
> So yeah! I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave any comments and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the whole updating thing! For anyone who'd like to, but would rather stay anonymous, you can always drop by my tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) and do it there!


	8. Have I Been Giving Witty Chapter Titles? I Can't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to expect in this chapter (little warning): The Big Bad showing up with some emotional manipulation, but also chocolate!

“Come on, Charlie, you got this.”  
“Lord Barnes…”  
“Nah-uh. Told you not to call me that.”  
“Bucky… it’s hard.”  
“Damn right it’s hard.” Bucky says. “And damn right you can do it. Now try again.”

Bucky’s standing behind the young man, shot last year and paralyzed from the waist down because of it. They’re at the mats, raised to about Bucky’s waist, with Charlie laying flat on his stomach and Bucky standing behind him. He understands the frustration of learning how to use your own body in an entirely different way. He also knows that while Charlie doesn’t want to be coddled, it’s sometimes easier to take it from those who will give it to him. And Bucky won’t give it to him.

“You ready?” He asks.

Charlie breathes in deeply and nods, his head moving across the mat. Taking hold of the back of the brace wrapped around Charlie’s waist, Bucky prepares for him to lift himself up with his arms. The very second Charlie presses any weight onto his hands, Bucky helps pull his lower body up into an all-fours position. From there, Charlie’s still a little wobbly in keeping his balance, but he gradually leans forward. 

“That’s it, Charlie,” Bucky encourages. “You got this.”

He assists in Charlie’s balance, but all the work is being done by Charlie himself. Charlie leans back and then forward again, continuing a steady pace. Bucky smiles, proud of his patient for pushing through another obstacle. These are some of the hardest times. Each new obstacle is almost like a slap in the face. How often the universe will block one’s path is astounding. But every time someone climbs over it, makes it out victorious on the otherside, their pride swelling with a deserved sense of satisfaction and excitement--that’s something Bucky dedicates his work to. 

“One more, Charlie. You can do it.”

Elbows shaking with fatigue, Charlie breathes heavy a few times before completing one final rep. Bucky lets out a cry of elation as he helps lower Charlie back down.

“I told you you could do it!” He exclaims, moving around to the side so he can look him in the face. “Didn’t I tell you? Lemme hear you say it.”

Breaths backing up and coming hard, Charlie still smiles through it all and looks Bucky right in the eye. 

“You told me.”  
“Right I did.”

He slides his hand, palm up, on the mat and Charlie slaps it. They switch their hands around and high-five that way. Bucky grabs the metal thermos on tray next to him and unscrews the top. Moving further onto the mat with Charlie, he helps lift him up a bit, slow and steady, until he’s seated upright.

“Here.” He hands the thermos off. “Take a drink.”

As Charlie takes some of the water, Bucky wipes his patient’s brow and neck with a moist towel, cleaning some of the sweat off. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Bucky instructs. “And we’ll get you back in your chair.”

Charlie eyes the wheelchair in front of the mats like it’s his worst enemy. It’s not something Bucky can fully relate to. After all, he’s never lost the ability to walk. Even with what he _has_ lost, Bucky still can’t fully comprehend what Charlie’s losing. His place in Society, low as it was, is pretty much forfeit now. He’ll never be considered a contributing member of the world. Bucky had come close to such a fate when he first lost his arm. It was his parents, their insistence to put him in the public and make him a top story, that saved him. He was a child who lose a limb and the public--Society and under--made a him out to be some tragic underdog tale. Rising from the ashes of despair, clawing his way out, succeeding against all odds.

Rumors spread about how he lost it--a fire, being thrown from a horse, falling from a tree, his favorite was the one about ritualistic sacrifice (the House of Barnes’ creed is From Sacrifice Comes Glory after all!) No matter how much interviewers offered to pay, Bucky never gave them that story. Eventually, they, for the most part, stopped asking. 

It still makes Bucky want to roll his eyes. The yarns people will spin to make themselves feel better about their own lives are endless. Still, if not for them, Bucky has no idea where he’d be.

“Lord Barnes? Uh, I mean, Bucky?”  
“Yeah?”  
“How long… um, how long did it take?” Charlie asks. “To, y’know, get used to… it?”

Bucky’s metal arm laughs. He tries to ignore it, but it’s incredibly difficult when it won’t shut up. It’s not usually this mocking, not anymore. Right now, it’s acting up the same way it did in the beginning and no matter how often Bucky ignored or yelled at it, it just kept on at it. Even when he tells it to be quiet, it goes right on laughing.

He wishes he could give Charlie an actual answer, one that will give him a timeline to hope for. But the truth is… 

“Honestly, Charlie, I’m still not completely used to it.” He answers. “There are still mornings I wake up and I’m shocked to have it. Sometimes I expect to have my biological arm. Sometimes I think there’s nothing again.” Bucky trails off when he sees the panic growing in Charlie’s eyes. He pats Charlie’s thigh. “It gets easier though. I swear. It does.”

Charlie nods, his face still a bit contorted as his eyes look for something to offer sympathy. The wheelchair isn’t known for it. 

“You know my parents have arranged a marriage for me.” Charlie states. “To my friend Raven.”

Bucky draws in a rough breath, unprepared for that comment. It sinks into his veins, making his body cold and numb. 

“Oh yeah?” He gets out despite the tightness in his throat.  
“Yeah.” Charlie fiddles with his fingers. Bucky wonders what they might be telling him. “I love her and all, actually, I love her very much… I just never thought I’d have to marry up for… being hurt.”  
“Well, that’ll secure your place in Society.”

That’s just his mouth making words for him. While the statement is true, Bucky doesn’t really mean it to be all that comforting, because he knows it’s not. 

“Do you love your husband?” Charlie asks. Eyes going wide, Bucky glances down at his lap and Charlie remarks, “Never mind. That was improper and rude of me. I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay.” Bucky clears his throat. “You ready?”  
“Ready? Oh. Yeah.”

Bucky intends on helping Charlie back into his chair and then taking him back to the lobby only finds that he doesn’t need to. One of Charlie’s friends is crossing the room towards them. Though he’s clearly tried to clean himself up, there’s still soot smeared on his friend’s face. His clothes are tattered and worn, not the clothing of a gentleman. He lights up with a smile though, eyes getting brighter the closer he gets.

“Erik!” Charlie exclaims. “I thought you had to work today.”  
“I did. I left early to come get you.” Erik grins and looks to Bucky. His smile fades. Bucky knows why. Speaking to Charlie first, despite being his friend, is rude and disrespectful. Bucky is higher in status, and greetings are to be given to him first. Bowing his head respectfully, Erik murmurs, “Good afternoon, m’Lord. My apologies… I…”  
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”  
Erik nods, smile renewed. “Can I, y’know…”  
Bucky gestures to Charlie. “Be my guest.”

Erik’s smile gets bigger as he goes to help Charlie into the chair himself. Arms going out to the sides, Charlie accepts the assistance with a huge grin. 

“Come on, buddy.” Erik says as he lifts him up. 

Watching them, Bucky feels his insides swelling. The way the two of them look at each other, there’s just something about it that reminds Bucky of Steve. And he’s been deliberately doing everything he can to _not_ think about Steve. About his husband. Who very reasonably reprimanded him earlier today. Who is granting him yet another do-over. Who held him in the motorcar today and pet him and made him warm and had his heart pounding. Who Bucky kissed. On his own. Because Steve made him want to. It’s so frustrating.

The memory weasels its way back into his mind at the most inconvenient of moments. Pretty much all the time. No matter how much he tries to shoo it away, to lock it up in the deepest vault of his mind. Only his mind won’t cooperate with him. Not surprising since most of his mind, body, heart, soul, everything, has decided to work against him. So of course, his lips give a little tingle every now and then, as though they’re purposely working with his mind, and just make Bucky remember how nice it feels to have them against Steve’s warm skin. 

“Bucky?”

Charlie’s voice pulls him out of the back of the motorcar with Steve. Rattling his head, Bucky gives him all his attention in yet another attempt to ignore this memory. 

“Yes. Sorry. You’re all set.” He tells him. “Same time next week, right?”  
“I’ll be here.” Charlie agrees, and then looks over his shoulder at Erik, that lit up expression still all over his face. “Ready?”  
“Yep.” Erik answers, same adoring look on his face as well. “Let’s go. Good day, Lord Barnes.”  
“Same to you, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Bucky can hear Erik asking Charlie how the session went as they leave and Charlie’s animated answer. Which now leaves Bucky alone with nothing but his thoughts and lots of equipment for company. The equipment is no help. They’ve been busy working all day and it’s time for them to be cleaned down anyway. Bucky tries to concentrate on doing that. He pays very close attention to the mist that sprays out of the bottle--some sort of new disinfectant created by the House of Foster. The tiny drops of moisture sparkle a bit in the light until Bucky wipes a cloth over them, streaking them out and rubbing them into the surfaces of whatever they’re on. 

A pair of big, puppy-like blue eyes pop into his head. Bucky shakes the image away and swirls the cloth around to make doodles and designs on the mat he’s cleaning. That may have helped a little if Bucky’s hand didn’t go ahead and scrawl out _Steve_ instead of just random designs. 

Sighing, Bucky tosses the cloth away and officially abandons the chore. He gives up and just let’s his thoughts come as they will.

_Don’t know why you fought it anyway._ His memories comment.  
 _Because… because…_

Because Steve makes him feel good. And he didn’t expect that. Because Steve is good to him. And he didn’t expect that. Because Steve likes to tease and joke, and makes comments about spoiling him. And Bucky certainly didn’t expect any of that. Because Steve is so much more than he could have hoped for. And that scares the hell out of him. Because what if… what if this is just a honeymoon phase? Sweet times and enticing kindness, only to change later on.

The thought of Steve makes Bucky smile, it has all day long. Last week and the week before, thinking of Steve made him cringe. It wasn’t really Steve that bothered him, it was his own behavior. Bucky had been less than easy to deal with. More than that, he’d straight up been rude and disrespectful. There was no reason for it, other than Bucky’s own resistance to open up to Steve, to accept what’s happened. 

To be honest, Bucky can’t really figure out _why_ he was suddenly struck with the need to lash out at his patient and understanding husband. It’s just… every morning, he wakes surrounded by his things--his trinkets and books and clothes--but the room is still a stranger. He doesn’t know the walls, the walls don’t know him. The floor creaks in strange, unfamiliar ways, telling him that he’s not welcome there. He’s an outsider, someone suddenly inserted into a life he knows nothing about. Dropped off in a foreign country, where he speaks no language there and cannot find his way back. Lost forever. That scares him as much as Steve does. 

There is still so much to learn, so many more changes to come. Steve mentioned something about having to learn how to cook. That’s just one of the traditions and customs he’ll need to adapt to as a member of the House of Rogers. 

Bucky catches a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall. His stomach lurches. The star on his arm, the Barnes’ symbol and creed, they’re still there. Steve has been lenient thus far, letting him keep his name, having his things sent over, tolerating his uncouth behavior, but there are some things that even Steve can’t let slide. Eventually, and probably some time soon, Bucky will need to have it all removed. Bucky is part of the House Rogers. Nothing he does will change that. He’s no longer part of his family, is not supposed to think of them as such. They are now the House Barnes to him and nothing more. 

Only Bucky doesn’t know how to do that. Leaning forward, Bucky lets out a soft groan. No feelings for Steve, _not that you have any, right?_ , will ever take the place of his family. And why should it? Steve means nothing to him, well, not nothing, a little, something, but now Bucky’s meant to regard him as though he’s _everything_. The irritation of this hasn’t lessened yet. 

“Bucky?”

He glances up to see his boss coming towards him. He’s supposed to be finishing up in here, getting the equipment clean, not sitting and sulking. 

“Sorry, Dr. Odinson.” He says as he stands up. “I guess my mind ran away from me.”  
“No need to apologize.” Dr. Odinson assures. 

Despite Dr. Odinson’s appearance--his wide girth and body even bigger than Steve’s, wavy locks of golden hair kept long instead of the normally accepted neat and short--he’s a good man, and Bucky owes him a lot. Taking a chance on hiring him before Bucky was fitted for his prosthetic was and is a very big deal. Every other department in the Military Bureau turned him down, even when his father’s seat in the Intelligence Department was still his inheritance. 

“I’ll get back to…”  
“No, no,” Dr. Odinson interrupts. “I was coming in to let you know that there’s a visitor signing in to see you at the front gates.”  
“A visitor?”  
He nods. “Yes. They called ahead to let me know.”

Butterflies invade his belly, millions of them incessantly flapping their wings and causing some sort of foreign emotions to bubble up inside of him. His only thought is Steve. Bucky attempts to keep his smile under control, or, at the very least, get ahold of himself. He’s not all that successful.

_Why do you torture me like this?_ He asks all of him.

All he gets is a chuckle at his distress and miserable failure at staying cool and calm. 

“Do you want to meet them?” Dr. Odinson wonders. “Or should I just send them your way?”  
“Well, um…” Bucky nearly gulps. “I still have to finish up in here. So could you…?”  
“Not a problem.” He turns to leave then, but stops and faces him again. “Hey, Bucky, listen…” 

Bucky’s stomach clenches. That’s never a good way to start something.

“Yes?”  
“If you need some time off, some time to adjust to your new marriage, you know I’d understand, right?”

A sigh of relief rushes out of his lungs. 

“Thank you, Dr. Odinson. Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”  
Dr. Odinson smiles, a big, teeth showing grin, and says, “You’re a good man, Bucky. The House Rogers is a good family. I’m sure they want you to be happy.”

That’s all he says before leaving Bucky in the room to wait for his guest. And he does, in fact, need to wait in the room. Bucky needs to find some sort of composure before meeting with, well, he thinks, Steve. 

This damn smile won’t go away, won’t even do him the courtesy of getting a little smaller. Dr. Odinson’s compliments, his kind words, they’re floating gently around Bucky, supporting and encouraging him to be excited. For once, he’s actually listening to them. As he continues to clean up, allows the excitement slither into his veins, his visitor must be there, standing in the doorway Bucky’s back is to. A throat clears and Bucky fights to keep his smile in check.

“Hey there, doll.”

The encouraging words crash down all around him, leaving a pile of rubble in their wake. Eyes wide, Bucky’s body recoils at that voice, at the pet name, at everything the voice makes him think of. 

“What are you doing here, Brock?” He hisses as he turns. 

Brock crosses the room towards him, sauntering in despite the room’s every effort to keep him out. There’s a smirk on his face, too, like Bucky’s reaction to him is amusing.

“What’s the matter?” He sneers. “Can’t I come to check on my doll?”  
“Stop calling me that. And _no_. I told you. It’s over.”  
“You always loved it when I called you doll.” Brock taunts as though that’s the only thing Bucky has said. “Or don’t you remember? Whimpering, asking for it harder? More? _Please_ more?”  
“Shut up.” Bucky growls.

Of course he remembers it. How can he not? All his pathetic attempts to numb his pain, fill the emptiness with with something, with _anything_ , that only ended with him in more pain, made him feel even emptier. 

“Stop!” Bucky cries out before Brock can get any closer. 

His hand had been outstretched like he meant to caress Bucky with it. Hand rough and big, never taking a soft, gentle touch with him at all. 

Brock does stop, his mouth curled up in a sadistic smirk. His cruel tongue slides across his bottom lip.

“Calm down, doll,” He snickers. “ _I’m_ not here for you.”  
“Then what the hell…”  
“Someone else wants a word with you.” Brock interrupts. “A business associate of mine.”  
“What?” Bucky glances around the room. Nothing in there is helpful in clearing up his confusion. “What are you talking about?”  
“Sit down, Bucky.”  
“Don’t tell me…”  
“You should sit down, Lord Barnes.”

That voice is unlike any Bucky has ever heard before. It’s soft, yes, but it’s firm, commanding obedience with just a few words. Those words push against the back of Bucky’s knees, and he finds himself seated on the mats. 

The source of the voice is an older gentleman, dressed in a proper day suit, more traditional than most people wear nowaday, and he’s coming towards him, walking in and making everything in the room feel obliged to him. This man’s steel eyes are focused on Bucky. Bucky tries to force his eyes to keep the contact. They don’t listen, can’t even, and lower the closer he gets, landing on the copper brooch in the man’s lapel. It’s round, with the image of a skull--six tentacles curling out of it--and the words “Greatness Through Power” engraved around it. That emblem, the sigil along with it… things begin to click in Bucky’s brain.

“Lord Barnes,” The man says. “My name is Alexander of the…”  
“House of Pierce.” Bucky finishes for him. Now he knows exactly who this is. “What can I do for you, Lord Pierce?”

He attempts to keep his voice steady, but only barely succeeds. The House of Pierce is known less for civility and more for their tight hold on tradition and Societal value. 

“I see my reputation precedes me.” Alexander comments “I’m here today to discuss with you how we can help one another.”  
“Help one another?”  
“Yes, that’s right. It’s my understanding through talks with Lord Rumlow, that you’re not exactly pleased with the predicament you’ve found yourself in.”  
“Predicament?”  
“Your marriage.”  
“My marriage?”

Bucky feels like a parrot. Most everything he’s said to this man has just been a repeat of what’s already been said. He’s not sure why being under this man’s scrutiny feels so intimidating. It’s not helping that Brock is off to the side, thick arms pinned against his chest and watching intently.

Alexander states slowly, like he needs to in order for Bucky to understand, “To Steve Rogers? You _did_ marry up to the House of Rogers recently, isn’t that right?”  
“Uh, yes…” His eyebrows pull in. “What is this about?”  
“Lord Rumlow has told me some of the things you’ve told him during your relationship.”  
“We _don’t_ have a relationship.” Bucky snaps. Alexander raises his eyebrows, the look causing Bucky’s stomach to flip. “I… uh…”  
“Be that as it _may_ ,” He says, his tone offhand and casual, yet suggesting Bucky needs to show him more respect. They might be even in status now, but that’s only due to Bucky’s new marriage. “This marriage was _not_ something you wanted. Is that correct?”  
“Well, yes, or… no, I didn’t want it.”  
“Still don’t?”  
“I…”

Thoughts of Steve flash through his mind. Steve holding him and keeping him warm, making him laugh and smile, wanting to spoil him. Then Bucky thinks about his things, lonely in the room he’s put them in. There’s no answer to this question, so Bucky shrugs. 

“Let me tell you something, Lord Barnes,” Alexander says, stepping up just enough that Bucky needs to lean his head back slightly to maintain eye contact, “A man like you can never be happy in the situation you’re in. You can find things you like about it, sure. I’ve known the House Rogers for a very, very long time. They’re a very… _charming_ family to say the least. But there is no one in this world, not in Society especially, without ulterior motives. No one is as good as the House of Rogers pretends to be. Trust me. Do you really think the volunteer work Steve Rogers does is all out of the _goodness_ of his heart?”

Bucky didn’t think so. Just a few weeks ago he believed the rumors that Steve had his own selfish reasons for volunteering. Having spent some time with the man, he’s started thinking otherwise. 

“He’s been good to me so far.” Bucky points out.  
“You’re in a honeymoon stage.” Bucky’s chest tightens, “It won’t last.” He says this matter of factly, as if this is an irrefutable truth of life. “And as soon as it’s convenient, there’ll be no need for your husband to treat you so well.” His voice gets lower and he murmurs, “ _Everyone_ wants something. Everyone wants _more_ and they’ll use whatever and whoever they can to get it. Just look at you.”  
“Me?” Bucky’s voice squeaks. “I’ve never…”  
“Never? Are you _sure_ about that?”

Bucky absently touches his left arm. 

“That’s what I thought.” Alexander goes on before Bucky can respond any further than a stiffened posture and a glance down. “Just look at your marriage alone. You might not have _wanted_ to marry for money, to keep your place in Society, but you _did_. You’re no better than the rest of us. Neither is the House of Rogers. No matter how charming young Lord Rogers is, he _is_ going to use you. Whether it’s to make himself look good or to have a pretty face by his side for the cameras or to elicit even more sainthood for his House,” He reaches out and touches Bucky’s arm. Unrestrained, up for grabs. Just an object for him. Bucky pulls it back. “He’s _using_ you.”

Knots have tied tightly in his stomach. It hurts and he feels sick. Bucky glances over at Brock. Those dark eyes of his, a black sky before the storm, glare into him. Insides hurting, Bucky’s not sure what to make of all this. 

“Steve is nice.” Bucky finds himself saying. “He is. I…” He swallows the words, then says them anyway, “I like him. You… think he’s going to use me?”  
“I do, Lord Barnes. And the type of person you are? It’s not something you can live the rest of your life doing.”  
“And what type of person am I?”  
“You need to be in charge. On top. I know it.”  
“But I…”  
“Maybe not in charge,” Alexander corrects himself. “But just think about it. Perhaps Steve Rogers will treat you well, be kind and sweet to you, maybe even love you,” The idea sends a pleasant, yet icy shiver down Bucky’s spine, “None of that will change the fact that _you_ need to obey him. That _he’s_ in charge of _you_. Whatever he wants? Ultimately, that _will_ happen. Everything in your life, top to bottom, is now his for the taking.”

Bucky’s skin feels much too tight around his bones. It’s attempting to strangle him, to squeeze him until there’s nothing left. Everything Alexander just said, every point he’s made, all of it is weighing down on Bucky just as painfully as it did the moment he knew his mother-- _that’s Lady Barnes to you now, buddy_ , a cruel side of his brain reminds him--told him she’d be arranging a marriage for him. 

It’s never really gone away. Steve’s kindness hasn’t cast it aside, all he’s done is mask it. All it’s been doing is hiding a bit, lurking inside of Bucky and waiting to pop out when he least expects it. 

“There’s nothing I can do about it.” Bucky whispers, just able to find his voice.  
“On the contrary,” He counters, the look on his face smug and full of such confidence it’s overwhelming. “What if I told you there is a way to divorce your husband and keep the status?”

He can only stare at Alexander for a moment, even taking a second to look at Brock again. He’s only answered with a slight flick of Brock’s eyebrows, as though the man is doing Bucky a huge favor. 

“It’s not just…” Bucky doesn’t want to say it, to tell him, them, that his family still needs the money. “I can’t get divorced.”  
“Because of your father’s debt?”

Fire ignites inside of Bucky, shines through his eyes with such intensity he can almost feel the burn of it. 

“That’s none of your business.” He growls.  
“But it _is_ my business, Lord Barnes. You see, in order for this to work, I need to have the information. The late Lord Barnes’ decision to invest in the new diesel fueled engines from Hammer Tech cost the Military Bureau quite a lot of money, though, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”  
“How…” The words get stuck on Bucky’s tongue. This was supposed to be kept quiet as long as the money is paid back. “How did you know that?”  
“There isn’t much I _don’t_ know. Except about the House of Rogers. And that, Lord Barnes, is where _you_ come in.”  
“Me?”  
“That’s right; you. Help me bring the House of Rogers down, and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”  
“Take them down?” Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt Steve. I don’t want to hurt any of them.”

Alexander gives him a patient smile, patient albeit condescending. He even reaches out and pats his head. Bucky wants to shrug away, only he doesn’t dare. 

“Forgive my old-fashioned tongue. Discredit them? Perhaps that works better.”  
“Why are you so against them?” Bucky asks.  
“My motives are not truly your concern. But the House Rogers is of a _liberal_ ,” He sneers the word so hard that it comes out of his mouth like a bullet and strikes Bucky in the chest, “breed. Like I’ve said, they have their motives. Their ideas will most definitely be the downfall of proper Society.”  
“And you want to stop that?”  
“Of course I do.” Alexander's mouth turns into something of a grin. “And if you help me, if we can discredit them _before_ you’ve been married for a year, you are able to file for separation on grounds of misrepresentation. However, a divorce for such reasons allows _you_ to keep _all_ that you and your _former_ family has gained through this arrangement.”  
“It… does?”

The intrigue comes in suddenly, and very much unwanted. It’s there though, seeping into Bucky like a virus. 

“That’s right. It’s a very old law, one that’s not used much nowadays because people don’t know about it, but it’s still on the books. Still very much legal.”  
“But… what’ll happen to the House Rogers?”  
Alexander shrugs. “Some loss of status maybe. Lose their influence in Parliament. But they’re an _old_ house, Lord Barnes. With quite a fortune stashed away. They’ll recover.” He tilts his head back a bit and takes in a deep breath. “But more importantly… _you’ll_ get your life back. Even better, you’ll be able to take care of the House of Barnes on your _own_ , because it’ll be _your_ House again.” Alexander leans in so that Bucky no longer needs to look up to see him. They’re face to face, his eyes beaming with power and suggestion when he adds, “The House Rogers will lose their power in Parliament, but they’ll still have their place in High Society. And you get your life back. But… that’ll only happen _if_ you can help me. Can you help me, Lord Barnes?”

His House back. Bucky could be part of his family again. He wouldn’t have to learn how to be part of another House and accept it as his own. He wouldn’t have to live under the headship of another. Like Alexander pointed out, the Rogers are an old House. They’ll… get on with life. 

_And what about Steve?_ Something wonders. _What if he’s wrong?_  
 _He’ll… he… I don’t…_

“Yes or no, Lord Barnes? Can you help me? Can you give me any information, any at all, that might help?”  
“Steve… he’s a good man. Really.” Bucky insists. “He’s not… I don’t think he’ll hurt me.”  
Alexander lifts his eyebrows. “Hm. Tell me, Lord Barnes. How long did your father know Lord Hammer?”  
“I…” His stomach twists, hurts. “A long time. Before I was born.”  
“I see. I’m sure your father also thought his friend would speak on his behalf after the investment went sour, don’t you?”  
“I…” The room is getting smaller around him. Hot air crushes down on him. Makes it hard to breathe. “Steve… was sick?” The words just come out. Mumbled, hushed. Bucky’s not thinking about them, just saying them, saying them quickly to get rid of them. “When he was little. The doctors thought he was going to die.”  
“Which doctors?”  
“The House Banner.”  
“Anything else?”

The House Erskine. They’re the ones that came up with the formula that helped Steve most. He still takes medications to stay strong, too. Bucky’s seen him, seen Steve when he thought he was alone, giving himself the injection that helps him. 

No. These aren’t things that anyone, especially anyone from the House Pierce, should know. It could cost Steve a lot more than a tarnished reputation. It could ruin him.

“No.” Bucky whispers. “That’s all. I mean… I’ve only been married for two weeks. I don’t know them all that well.”  
“I gathered that. Just the fact that the House of Barnes’ sigil is still on your arm. You… _know_ you’ll have to get rid of that, don’t you?”  
Bucky pulls his lips in and turns his head. “Yeah. I know.”  
“And you’re _sure_ you have nothing else to tell me?”  
“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.”

_What… what’s happening? What’re you doing? Fix this. Now._

“Wait.” Bucky says. He’s talking, yes, but his voice sounds far off, distant. “It was… he’s better. Now. Steve.” He shakes his head, wants to say more, only comes up with, “So… it’s nothing.”  
“Okay then.” Alexander stands up straight and straightens his tie. He nods once at Bucky and then looks to Brock, jerking his head to towards the door. He puts his hat on. “Thank you, Lord Barnes. Good day, to you.”

Confusion whirls around him. Bucky’s no longer sure what’s up and what’s down. As if his life hadn’t already been pulled out from under him enough.

What just happened? Bucky can’t be sure. Fog seems to have settled around in his brain, only now beginning to clear out. A hard wind blows it all away when Brock puts his hand on the side of Bucky’s throat. Bucky glances up at him, up into those cold eyes of his before Brock closes his hand and lifts him up by his neck. 

“Brock…” He blinks, seeks out more coherency. “What did I…?” 

He wants to ask him what happened. Wants to know what’s going to happen now. But instead of any of them coming out, instead of Brock waiting to see what he has to say, their lips are crushed together. This kiss is like all the others they’ve had, rough, hard, and meaningless. It does, however, feel like magic. Not a good magic. Not the magic found in fairy tales that wakes the sleeping princess and leads to her and her prince’s happily ever after. This magic snaps Bucky back to reality, back in a place he’s not so sure he should be proud to be a part of. He shoves his hands into Brock.

“Stop it!” He yells. “I told you…”  
“I know, I know,” Brock chuckles. “We’re done, right? No worries. You did good, baby doll.” He cracks a smile when Bucky glares at him. “You know what you get with me, doll. You can’t trust that Steve Rogers. _No one_ is that good.”

That’s all Brock says before following after Alexander. Only he doesn’t leave Bucky alone. Betrayal is there with him, in the air and hovering over Bucky. It looms there, casting an invisible shadow over him. 

What he’s done, telling that man things Steve told him in confidence after only knowing him… well, he _doesn’t_ know him. Steve doesn’t know him and yet he’s trusted Bucky with one of his deepest secrets and Bucky’s shared it. 

“I didn’t tell him everything.” Bucky murmurs to himself.

Maybe saying the words out loud will somehow lessen the guilt he feels. He can justify this. He can… really. Steve isn’t sick anymore. He’s on medications and vitamins to keep him healthy. And Bucky didn’t say anything about that. Steve’ll be okay. 

“Right? He’ll be okay?”

Nothing answers him. 

***

Autumn has been kind this year. Crisp breezes and fallen leaves, those left on the trees glowing like bright orange and auburn flames. It’s getting later in the season now, so when Bucky steps outside, the chill in the air makes him shiver. He wasn’t always so sensitive to the cold. Dr. Strange--who oversaw his procedure and recovery--tells him it’s his brain responding to--revisiting, reliving even--an environment that it remembers much too strongly. A time that left an everlasting footprint upon his soul. 

Bucky tightens his overcoat and pulls his hat further down on his head, thinks he might want to start wrapping a scarf around himself until the world warms again. He’s only outside for a few minutes, standing there bundled up as guilt wars inside for complete control of him, before the motorcar meant for him comes to a stop at the curb, bouncing up and down when rolling over a hole where a stone is missing from the street. Stiles comes out of the driver’s seat to open the door for him, giving a passing greeting as he does. Bucky means to respond, he really does, but nothing comes out. His mouth, lips, tongue, they’re not working with him right now.

He’s placed his foot up on the rest and is about to hoist himself up and into the back when a hand reaches out to him. Startled, Bucky steps back and looks up into a pair of kind, warm eyes--eyes like liquid sky, sunshine pouring out of them.

“Steve!” Bucky exclaims, an embarrassing, yet excited squeak accompanying the name as it sails up and out his throat. “What’re you doing here?”

Steve chuckles, seemingly pleased with Bucky’s blush-inducing reaction to seeing him in the back of the motorcar. 

“You didn’t think I’d just go back without you, huh?”  
“Oh, I… dunno. Didn’t really think about it, I guess.”

Not true at all. Bucky has been thinking about it just as often as he’s thought about Steve holding him. He’s just been preoccupied the last thirty minutes or so. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind.” Steve clears his throat, and, unlike the past two weeks, Bucky _does_ see how unsure he must feel. It’s in the creases around his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth turn down just a little. _Well if you’d have listened to us, you would have noticed sooner_ His eyes point out. So Bucky responds to Steve, “I don’t mind. I’m… glad.”

That earns him a crinkled smile from his husband. Bucky smiles in suit. He likes Steve’s smiles. Likes making his lips turn up and brighten his endearing face. 

“Okay, so you should get in.” Steve remarks. “I have something for you.”  
“Hmm, it seems you’ve unwittingly stumbled upon my five favorite words.”  
“Then get in here.”

Steve’s hand comes out to him again, and this time Bucky takes it, only partially ignoring the heat that spreads through him when his husband’s skin touches his own. As Bucky climbs in, Steve hesitates for a moment and then moves over, so that Bucky is still on his left. Bucky’s not sure if he’s done it on purpose or not, but he’s infinitely grateful for it either way. 

When he takes a seat next to his husband, Bucky grins up at him and says, “Hi.”  
“Hello.” Steve smiles back again. “How was your day?”  
“It was…” Nope. Can’t talk about it, “fine. Yours?”  
“Different. Working out of City Hall requires a lot of conformity and rule following.”  
“Don’t like rules? Bucky half jokes. Seems that Alexander might be right after all. “Aren’t you such a rebel.”  
“No, I’m fine with rules. Rules that make sense though. Ones that keep people safe? Good. Ones that say artists, musicians, performers and writers can’t be part of Society or Parliament because their minds are, and I quote, too sensitive and dramatic to form rational and coherent thoughts that will benefit Society at large? Not such a fan of those.”

Bucky can only stare at him after he explains this. It doesn’t make sense, just like Brock said. How can anyone possibly be so genuine, so dedicated to doing the right thing even when most of the world is against him? That can’t be. Steve doesn’t make any sense. 

Something painful stabs at his chest. That betrayal he’s been trying to ignore wraps around his neck, a lasso pulling tighter the longer he looks at Steve. Guilt officially wins the war inside of him.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, left only with concern on his face.  
“I…” _Think I may have done something really bad_ , “...missed you.”

There’s a tug at Bucky’s stomach when Steve pulls his eyebrows in, as though he’s sure he’s being lied to. But it’s not a total lie. Bucky just hasn’t realized he misses him during the day, not just this day, until now. 

“Really?” Steve wonders. “You missed me?”  
“Yeah… I, uh, yes, Steve. I did.” Bucky folds his lips in. “I’m sorry.”  
“Sorry?” He chuckles. “For what?”

_That you’re too good for me and I can’t ever give you what you deserve._

“For… the past two weeks. I’m sorry.”  
“No.” Steve shakes his head.  
“No?”  
“You got a do-over, remember? No need to apologize to me anymore.”

Once again, words fail him. They’re in there somewhere, conveniently keeping out of sight while Bucky wonders if Steve really does have something up his sleeve. 

“Just to Truvie.” Bucky gets out.  
“Just to Truvie.” Steve agrees. “Now close your eyes.”

His eyes close automatically, responding to the tone of Steve’s voice. It holds in it authority and dominance, but still maintains that gentle, caring sound that Bucky’s beginning to believe is Steve’s very nature. A leader with nothing but his followers’ safety and happiness in mind. Can such a person exist?

Bucky can hear the ruffling of paper and then feels something at his lips just before Steve says, “Open up.” His lips part and something slides onto his tongue. “Eat.” His husband tells him. The second he chomps down, Bucky’s mouth explodes with sweetness, his taste buds cheering and singing with the succulent taste of chocolate.

“Mmm,” Bucky groans and pops his eyes open. “This is…”  
“Uh-ah,” Steve runs his fingers over his eyes to close them again. “Didn’t say you could open those yet.”  
He chuckles. “Sorry. This is delicious. What is it?”  
“Hazelnut truffle.” He says. “Try this one.” Bucky opens his mouth and laughs when he chews on a chocolate macadamia nut like the ones they had on their honeymoon. “For the one I ate on you.” Steve explains lightly. “One more.”  
Bucky lets out a quiet, playful whine. “Just one?”  
“For now.” Steve laughs. “Here. Bite down.”

His teeth tear into a chocolate covered strawberry and Bucky can’t help but moan. These are his absolute favorite. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” He wonders. “So I can thank you properly.”  
“Hmm…” 

He can hear Steve considering this and Bucky has to squeeze his eyes tighter to resist the temptation to open them. Biting down on his lower lip, he holds in a giggle. 

“Please?”  
“Okay, okay.” He laughs. “Open your eyes.”

When Bucky does, he’s surprised to see how close Steve is to him. He opens his mouth to give the thanks he wants to, only his throat feels dry and his head is spinning, struck dizzy by the liquid sky swirling through Steve’s eyes. Steve is smiling and he moves his thumb softly under Bucky’s lip. 

“You got a little something…”

He’s about to pull his hand away. Bucky doesn’t want him to. Before he can think about it, he leans forward before Steve’s thumb is away and sucks on the very tip of it, tasting just the hint of chocolate. Steve freezes. Bucky freezes. He really didn’t think about this at all. His mouth reacted to his skin’s pleas to keep Steve close. He moves back, letting Steve’s thumb slip from his mouth. Steve keeps it up where it was as though he’s still right there. 

“I’m…”  
“Don’t say you’re sorry.” Steve whispers. “Please.”  
“But I…” His mind goes blank when Steve cups his cheek. “Okay…” He breathes and presses gently into his hand, eye shutting again.

A whimper, an actual whimper, escapes his lips and his eyes open upon hearing the embarrassing noise that he makes. Steve’s lips are parted, and his eyes focused on the lips that just let that whimper out. 

“Bucky…” He murmurs. “Can I…”  
“Yes, please…” He damn near begs. “Steve…” 

His husband wastes no time in pulling him closer and pressing their lips together as though kissing Bucky was the one thing Steve always dreamed of doing. Steve tastes heavenly, like fresh air and sunshine, and Bucky wants more of him, Bucky wants _all_ of him. 

Tears gather in the corner of his eyes. This isn’t supposed to happen. He isn’t supposed to want him, not like this, not after what he did today, and when Steve slowly pulls back, Bucky quickly blinks the moisture away. Steve isn’t fooled though. The small grin on his face fades.

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”  
“No, Steve, no, you didn’t… I liked that. I think… I’d like more of that.”  
Steve pets the side of Bucky’s face. “Not now though. Maybe… that was too much? I should have known better. I’m sorry.”

_No. Please stop being so wonderful to me._  
 _Yes, he **is** making this even more difficult, isn’t he?_ His heart says. 

One tear that managed to stay slides out his eye and down his cheek. The look on Steve’s face is heartbreaking, his eyes shattered in a million pieces like he’s done something terrible. 

“What’s wrong, Bucky? Please tell me.” Steve implores, voice wrapping around Bucky in a most pleading way. “Aside from the marriage you don’t want. Did I do something wrong?”  
“No, Steve. Not at all. I…” _Can’t make sense of anything. And you’re perfect. And I’m horrible. Everything is wrong._ Bucky swallows hard. “I’m cold.”  
“You’re… ah… okay.” Steve nods, and Bucky is even more grateful that he understands so easily. “Come here.”

He opens his arms, and Bucky rests against him. Ice snakes through his veins, but Bucky is warm in Steve’s embrace. It’s nice here, in Steve’s arm. Bucky likes it. 

He likes it and he hates it and wants nothing to do with it and never wants to leave it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who responded last week! I was so overwhelmed with the amount of people who took the time to reply to me! So the consensus seemed to be longer chapters with the possibility of longer update times. Ask and you shall receive! ((I do promise that I _am_ going to try so super hard to keep with every Friday updates though. Even when I post longer or more than one chapter/s)) This week there are two chapters going up. I hope you enjoyed this one enough to click the 'next chapter' button and continue straight on to the next one! :) Before you do though, have some gifs! 
> 
> Here we have Bucky getting excited that Steve has come to pick him up
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> And next is Steve after Bucky telling him he missed him
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> Doctor Odinson doesn't always feel the need to be held to Society's standards of professionalism. Or maybe I just felt like giving you a gif of shirtless Chris Hemsworth. I didn't think anyone would mind
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> *boo* *hiss* *cackle* Alexander after weaseling a little something out of Bucky and leaving
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> And just because I'm all about imagery here's what the motorcar looks like
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> Shot of the inside
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> go ahead, click 'next chapter' it's waiting for you! ;)


	9. Here's a Witty Chapter Title!

Steve’s clothes smell like Bucky. So much so that he’s reluctant to change out of them as he stands in his bedroom. It’s the subtle hint of sweetness, very much like Bucky himself. Who he is, the way he tastes, just Bucky. Steve can still feel the tingle on his lips where they touched Bucky’s. He so wants to kiss his husband again, to have his heart pick up and his breaths catch the way it had in the back of the motorcar. After the way Bucky reacted, with both longing and sadness, Steve knew it was best not to kiss again, at least not right away. The conflict going through Bucky was too much, and not something Steve wanted to risk making stronger. 

Bucky had stayed in his arms the whole way home. He’d been stiff, yes, but Steve was pretty sure that’s where he wanted to be. And it’s definitely where Steve wanted to be. When they got back, Bucky walked with him up to the second floor, and hesitated before heading to his room and locking himself away like he’s done ever since getting here. 

“So, I’ll… I mean…” Bucky took in a deep breath. “We’ll see each other for supper, right?”  
“Yes, of course.” Steve assured him, resting a hand on his right shoulder. “House Rogers’ custom, remember?”

That actually made Bucky smile, and he gave Steve one of his illegal looks. Big ocean eyes of his peering up at him and making Steve’s stomach twist.

“Yeah. Okay then. I’ll see you for supper.” 

Bucky took hold of Steve’s arm to pull him down a bit and, like in the back of the motorcar this morning, pecked his cheek before dashing into his room, closing the door behind him.

A grin pulled up on Steve’s mouth as he headed into his own room, where he’s been for the past fifteen minutes or so. 

Standing in front his dark wood dresser, Steve pulls out a pair of old, ratty trousers. They stay on with leather suspenders, and Steve decides not to put a shirt on today. He’ll just toss on his smock once he gets downstairs. 

When he steps out of his room, Steve’s eyes go straight to the closed door down the hall. At one time, just a few short weeks ago, that door meant nothing. Just quiet wood. Now it stares at him, as though daring Steve to come over, come on and knock, or just open it up, it’s his door after all. Only it’s not, no matter what temptations it taunts him with. Steve has given that room to Bucky, and he will honor his privacy, even if his right as headship says he can do otherwise.

Instead of driving himself wild with curiosity, wondering what Bucky might be doing, Steve goes first to the library to sort through the mail. It’s all on his desk, where Tuvie always put it. A stack of wax-sealed envelopes and rolled up scrolls. Most of the scrolls come from families under Society, pleas and desperate words of those seeking his help in finding justice for a loved one or even themselves. Occasionally, he’ll even receive messages from people already in prison claiming to be wrongly accused. 

There’s not all that much today, a few more congratulatory letters, two follow up messages on cases he’s already passed along to his father for further review, and an invitation to the opening of a new club at the end of next week. Taking a few minutes to answer those that require a response, Steve puts them all in a pile and then heads downstairs. 

“I’ll be downstairs.” He says to Truvie as he passes her in the first floor hallway. “Mail’s on my desk, okay?”  
“Of course, m’Lord.” She replies and immediately goes that way. “I’ll fetch you for supper?”  
“Thank you, Truvie.”

Steve continues down to the lower level, to the room all the way in the corner, designated as flex space. In his pocket is the two pronged, brass key that he uses to unlock the door. Relocking it behind him, Steve flicks on the lights. A hum goes through the wires as they power on, the long lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling flickering twice before staying lit. Natural light would be better, but he keeps the curtains of high windows closed. It’s a large room. Still cluttered. Just how Steve wants it. There’s nothing here that he doesn’t know exactly where it’s location is at any given moment. The floor is wood, walls white--all of them--floor included--splattered with spots of paint. Several easels are scattered about, all covered in sheets, piles of canvases lean against the walls--some blank, some with half-done works, buckets and bottles of paints dot the floor, tons of glass jars filled with different sized brushes are everywhere. There are a few wooden stools around and a twin-sized mattress pushed up against the far wall for those nights the room won’t let Steve leave. Right by the door is a long, wooden workbench, covered with more paint, and holding up brushes, pencils, sheets of paper, charcoal, and all the way in the corner, a phonograph, a pile of records on the floor under the spot. 

This is not a room Steve should have, even if it welcomes him back every time he’s been away. Most of last week he avoided it, but he’s been gone too long. He misses it. And it misses him. If anyone found out about this place, he would more than likely be brought to Court where they’d determine whether or not he was fit for his position or to inherit the Rogers’ seat in Parliament. A prison term could even be in his future for reasons of deception. Doodles, the occasional sketching, that’s one thing, acceptable in Society. But this? Producing actual art? It’s not okay.

Society sees this as someone having a different working brain, incapable of forming the same logical and rational conclusions as others. Sensitive. Dramatic. Impulsive. Daydreams. Artists, musicians, writers, performers, anyone who tries to make a profession out of creating art of any kind, can never be trusted with important responsibilities. Steve is doing both.

What Steve said to Bucky today, about finding such laws unfair, about wanting to change them, it’s not a totally selfless endeavor. Those of Society partake in the pleasure of the art all sorts of people make--whether music, visual art, stories, theater, poetry--but the brains behind it all are just not to be trusted. And for Steve, he’s been taking more and more risks. 

All he needs to do is ask the letter sitting on the workbench to confirm that. It’s addressed to ‘Captain’, and it’s expressing the curator of the Modern Art Musuem’s excitement to host his next exhibit. Captain’s been gaining a lot of fame as this year’s up and coming artist. Perhaps it’s because of the mystery and anonymity surrounding the art and the artist. No one public knows that Steve Rogers is Captain, very few actually do, not even his parents. 

Steve knows he should stop, especially now that he has Bucky to think about. But he just can’t imagine it. This is what lights him up. Gets inside his body. Brings it to life in the most wonderful of ways. He can lose himself for hours and hours in here, sleep for a bit and wake up to start all over again. Maybe Steve’s brain _does_ work differently. There’s peace in creating. No matter how frustrating and long and exhausting the process can be, to make something out of nothing brings something to him that nothing else ever has. 

People have smiled, gasped, even teared up, at his--at Captain’s--exhibits. Steve makes people feel things. And if Society had its way, he’d have to stop. 

Hovered over the workbench, eyes scanning and re-scanning the hand-written letter from the curator, Steve sighs, ridding his body of the unwanted fears that try to take over every now and then. He looks out at his studio, the unfinished pieces covered by sheets calling to him. Giving them a nod, he first chooses a record from the pile and settles it gently on the phonograph. He cranks the handle and carefully puts the needle in the groove of the record, turning the volume up all the way. The song starts softly, gradually picking up and chasing away Steve’s unneeded thoughts. Fears of being caught, of failing, of his mother illness, of his husband upstairs and miserable. Leaves him in the room with just the leftover emotions. 

Steve goes to the nearest easel and yanks the sheet off. This one is an abstraction piece, one he hadn’t even considered creating until last week. A slapdash tree of ice. Bright against the dark. Growing out of the cold. Icy ground, the background beginning to take the form of hardship and chaos. 

Mixing the paint, Steve can’t seem to get the color he wants, like the glitter of a pair of aquamarine eyes in a frozen ocean. 

~~

Bucky leans up against the back of the door. Heart pounding and eyes closed, he slides down to the floor. He’s gone and done it again. Went and kissed Steve and now his lips are doing that tingling thing again. 

_Please stop it._ He begs them.  
 _Why? You **like** kissing him._

The taste of chocolate is still on his tongue. Bucky opens his eyes. Steve bought him chocolate. Just because. He groans and considers finding Brock to tell him he just made everything up about Steve. Then he takes note of his things. Most of his clothes are unpacked, hanging in the semi walk-in closet--the rest are still in the trunk he’s pushed against the end of the bed. There’s quite a few boxes he still needs to go through piled around, boxes he can’t bring himself to empty. His things don’t belong here, in this room made out of darker wood than his was. Corners that whisper shadows in the middle of the night. 

Bucky leans his head back so he can stare up at the ceiling. There are no answers up there. Minutes go by, ticking away in numbing sameness, and Bucky’s mind is beginning to taunt him. 

Something about what Alexander said makes perfect sense. This idea that’s been suggested, it’s not like Bucky hadn’t thought it before. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the wake of his father’s death is that people really don’t care. After all his faithful years in the Intelligence Department, George Barnes’ memory would have been marred, smeared for his family. Dirt, mud. Ruined for at least a generation. All because Hammer Tech’s diesel engine wasn’t ready to be used yet. The prototype was almost flawless, but when they attempted to mass produce it… it hadn’t panned out. Because George Barnes endorsed it first, the blame fell on him, and only him. 

Not one person stepped forward to speak for him, not even after his heart gave out and he was lost to the world forever. Silence. Like Alexander had pointed out, even Justin Hammer, the inventor of the machine itself and his father’s _friend_ hadn’t supported him. If not for the deal Winifred made, the agreement to pay the debt back however long it took--even _after_ the Military Bureau froze and then emptied all their accounts--the information would have gone public and the House of Barnes would no longer be welcome in Society. 

Their things would be sold at auction. Probably bought by those they counted friends. The penthouse on the Upper East Side of Manhattan Isle, the rooms that became his playmates as a child, contracted to some other House. The staff would stay to serve someone else. The House of Barnes would be left broke and on the streets with no one to turn to. 

Now, Bucky can’t stop thinking about it. The seed’s been planted, and it’s growing inside of him at unprecedented rated. Branches of doubt and mistrust. Stretching out under his skin, pushing and twisting it painfully. An agonizing sensation that won’t let up. 

Hot tears gather in the corners of Bucky’s eyes. They come on quick and fast, and no matter how hard Bucky tries to get them to stop, they keep on coming. He wipes his hand under his nose and across his face, ridding himself of the moisture that doesn’t want to leave. 

His eyes glance out at the room again. It’s mocking him now, taunting him and his inability to leave. It’s reminding him that he’s stuck, no options, no way out… except… maybe what Alexander’s presented.

Bucky hops to his feet and tears out of there. He wants nothing to do with Alexander Pierce, nothing to do with Brock Rumlow. But he can’t stand the thought of staying in that room any longer. Not today. Two weeks. Two weeks of his life have been consumed by it. He should go out. Take a walk. Clear his head.

At the top of the stairs, Bucky realizes that he shouldn’t be leaving without first letting Steve know. As the headship, he’s expected to know where his spouse is, even if it’s just a general idea. Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. Protocol. Can’t be helped.

Twirling around, he heads to his husband’s room. On the way, Bucky wonders if maybe Steve would want to join him. His hand likes the idea, warms with the thought of Steve’s fingers holding it as they stroll through the park together. Autumn scents and friendly breezes. A bright, open sky holding his hand. Bucky tries not to smile too much. 

The door is open so he just knocks on the doorframe.

“Steve, do you want…”

He speaks to an empty room and then rattles his head. Eyebrows knit together, Bucky pokes his head further into the room as though that’ll make Steve magically appear. 

“Steve?” He calls out when he turns around to face the hall again. 

The only answer he gets is a soft wind that blows up against the window. It must move a branch of a tree outside. A sunbeam dances across the room, says hello and then leaves as quickly as it came. Bucky tries the library to find it empty, too. He ignores the beckoning of all the books tucked neatly on the shelves, begging for their titles to be read, and leaves. 

Bucky stands in the hall for a moment, hands on his hips and wondering where his husband’s got to. Or maybe this is nothing out of the ordinary. The past two weeks, Bucky’s only been in his bedroom and the kitchen. It’s always possible that Steve leaves sometimes between Bucky getting back from work and supper. Bucky would hardly know. It’s not like he’d have to let Bucky know anyway. Doesn’t work that way. Bucky needs to let Steve know where he’s going to be, not the other way around. 

Disappointed, Bucky sucks in a deep breath and heads down the stairs towards the front parlor. There’s no going for a walk now if he can’t tell his headship where he’s going to be. No husband around to be with either. _Which is more disappointing?_ He’s not sure. Rainclouds over his head, he can at least stand outside for a bit. Fresh air and all. He pulls open the glass door to the entryway and is immediately hit with a chill. The covered entry is always much cooler than the rest of the place, and Bucky realizes he should grab his coat.

“Are you heading out, Lord Barnes?”

Hand still on the doorknob, Bucky turns to see Truvie coming down the hall, wiping her hands dry with a white rag. 

“Uh…” He closes the door. “No. Where’s… no wait,” Might as well get this over with now. “Uh, I’m sorry. For today. Earlier, with breakfast. I didn’t mean, or, I guess I did mean to be rude. But I shouldn’t have. So… I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s out of breath by the time he gets all that out. He must have rambled. Which, in a way, is a good thing. He means it all. Truvie gives him a tiny grin.

“Apology accepted, m’Lord.” She says with a gracious nod of her head. Truvie then looks around like she making sure there’s no one else there. “Did you want to step out for a cigarette, sir?” Bucky feels his eyes go wide. “Lord Rogers won’t like it, but don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”  
“How did…” Bucky’s been so careful about his late night smokes. “How’d you know?”  
She smiles softly. “You keep your case in the breast pocket of your frock coat. I can feel it when I hang it up, sir.”  
“Hm.” He makes a strained noise in the back of his throat. Though it hadn’t been his intention, a smoke right now sounds like heaven. “Where’s Steve?”  
“Lord Rogers is doing some work in the downstairs office.”  
“There’s a downstairs office?” Bucky asks and then rattles his head. “There’s a _downstairs_?”  
“There’s a lot more to this place than a bedroom and the kitchen, m’Lord.” She chuckles lightly. “Maybe if you gave it a chance, you’ll learn to like the other rooms, too.”

Bucky looks away from her, face warming. Yes, a smoke might just be exactly what he needs. Maybe take a walk around the block. No one needs to know.

“Maybe I will have that cigarette.” He tells Truvie without looking up at her. 

He’s gone back into the entryway and is already taking his hat and coat off the coat rack. 

“Will you be back in for supper, m’Lord?”  
Bucky sighs. Almost chuckles. Maybe Truvie knows. “Have to be.”  
“You know I have a cousin who works over at the House Barnes’ place on Manhattan Isle.”

He pauses, almost all the way out the front door. The mention of his family, however indirectly, makes his heart spasm. Bucky pulls himself back in and faces Truvie again.

“Is that right?”  
She nods. “It is. She’s always had such pleasant things to say about the House Barnes, about you, how sweet and kind you always were, you in particular, _and_ your family.”

Blood pools in Bucky’s belly, fire smoldering on top of it all. 

“Not _my_ family.” He mutters. “Not anymore.”  
“Oh yes, they’re your family.” She shocks him with. “Nothing will change that.”

Bucky holds in a gasp. Truvie doesn’t understand how Society works at all if she’s willing to just throw words like that just out there where anyone can hear. 

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. He can’t let anyone play with his heart anymore. “It doesn’t work like that. I’ve married up. The House Rogers is my family now.”

Truvie gives him a sad shake of the head. 

“I know many people who talk about how glorious and glamorous it would be to climb up into Society, but, honestly I just don’t see the appeal. When I married my husband, our families became one. Neither of us needed to give up anything. We chose the marriage ourselves, started a family together. It doesn’t seem right, this idea that one needs to lose their identity to marry into a higher House. But then…” She stretches her lips. “I’m just a housemaid. What do I know about Society and all Its complexities?”

Sometime during her talking, Bucky lowered his eyes. He’s always thought that _everyone_ under Society desired a place among it. Many people are willing to do anything to get their taste of it. 

“I think you make a lot of sense, Truvie.” He whispers, only a ghost of his voice rising out of his throat.  
“Thank you, Lord Barnes. Enjoy your smoke, sir.” She starts to turn, and pauses to glance over her shoulder. “You know, the House Rogers places most of their value, if not all of it, on family. You might be surprised at the liberties Lord Rogers will allow as your headship.”  
“You know…” Bucky closes the front door and starts shrugging out of his coat. “Maybe I’ll take a look around here instead.”

Truvie gives him a smile and a quick nod of her head, almost like she approves of his choice. Bucky’s not sure why, but that matters to him. 

“I’ll fetch you for supper, m’Lord.”  
“Well…” Bucky tucks his lip under his teeth. “Steve said something about me needing to learn… in the kitchen? Maybe…”

He just sort of trails off there. His brain is malfunctioning again, disconnecting from the rest of him like it tends to do from time to time. But Truvie seems to get the gist of his request and she nods.

“Why don’t you meet me in the kitchen? Let’s say thirty minutes?”  
“Okay.” He murmurs, running his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

With another smile for him, Truvie takes her leave, and for the next thirty minutes, Bucky takes a look around the place that’s been home for the past two weeks. 

First room out of the entrance is the front parlor. Big and spacious, brick fireplace in the east wall with a long, stone mantle that’s home to several framed photographs. They’re of Steve and his family, one of him and Peggy Carter and her husband Gabe Jones; there’s a little girl with dark skin on Steve’s lap, one of Steve and Sam, even one of Steve with Tony Stark and the wife he married up to, Pepper Potts. The rumor is that his parents, Howard and Maria, arranged the marriage so that Lady Potts would rein him in. If it’s true, she’s done a good job. There aren’t any, or aren’t many, stories of him popping up doing crazy things anymore, like the time he decided to give base jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge a try. 

The formal dining room, which Bucky’s only passed through before, is home to a huge rectangular table, dark polished wood that shines in the light which comes in through the wall of windows. It’s natural wood, and it suits the room nicely, the real planks of wood bringing more character to it. Ten leather-bound chairs are around it, waiting to be put to use. They’re probably bored, not used much since Steve--and Bucky--live here alone and the table in the morning room is plenty room for them. Bucky wonders where his seat will be if, and when, because it’s sure to happen eventually, they host a dinner party. Will he be expected to sit at the other end of the table, across from the head of the family like the House of Barnes? Or will he be seated next to his husband, as is sometimes done? 

Through the kitchen, in a place he’s never been before, is the drawing room, twice the size of the front parlor. This is the place where they’ll entertain guests, where tea and coffee will be served, polite conversation will be made, music will be played… at the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, the very thing Bucky’s eyes refuse to look away from.

It’s black, polished perfectly, both the fall and lid open at the moment. Seeing the ivory, the white and black keys shining across the room like that, it makes Bucky’s fingers twitch. His old piano, it’s been closed since he lost his arm. He’s not been at the instrument since.

_Please?_ The five fingers of his right hand ask. _We can try._ The five fingers of his left add.  
 _No._

Bucky’s not going to try and find his metal fingers too clunky and heavy, have them fall all over the thin, delicate keys, and make a mess of the sweet sound he hopes to produce. The thought hurts too much, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

_“You can still sing, Bucky.”_ His dad had told him when he cried in the hospital. _“Still make music with your voice.”_  
 _“S’not the same, Dad.” He wept. “It’ll never be the same again.”_

Bucky had looked to this left, to where his arm used to be, to where there was empty space and nothing. His dad sat down on the bed next to him, on his left and everything, and put his arm around his shoulders. Bucky leaned into his father’s comfort.

_“You’re right. It’ll never be the same again. But we’ll work through it, Buck. And make our new life our norm. You’re my son. I’ll do every I can to take care of you.”_

Bucky wipes his eyes. They’re still dry, but he feels the need to double check. He pulls out his father’s, well, his, pocket watch. Forged in antiqued silver and glazed over in a black-pearl finish, the watch with it’s open brass gear design has been in the House Barnes for several generations. As the gears turn, making time move forward, tick-tock, tick-tock, Bucky wonders if this means it now belongs to the House of Rogers instead. His name is the same, but not his House. 

Checking the time, he still has a good fifteen minutes before he’s meant to meet her in the kitchen. He backs out of the room, not trusting himself in it. 

His fingers are angry with him, the piano disappointed as he disappears back through the kitchen. Bucky doesn’t pay attention to his fingers or the instrument. He’s not meant to play anymore. And anyway those books upstairs are calling him. There’s still a little bit of time and he can at least give them a few minutes of his attention, browse their titles so he knows what’s up there.

The library is nice. He likes it in here, is smitten with it immediately, doesn’t know how he wasn’t enticed by it when he wandered in earlier.

_You were looking for Steve, remember?_ His chest reminds him.  
 _Oh yeah._

The wall across from the door is mostly window, one large eye that streams in light and gives an ample view of the almost bare trees on the sidewalks outside. There’s a writer’s desk, mahogany, he thinks, covered in paper--cluttered really--and a typewriter and Tiffany lamp a little too close to the edge. Bucky gives it a friendly nudge towards the middle so that it’s safer. 

In front of the desk are two oversized, cozy-looking chairs, clouds themselves conveniently choosing here to stay. Maybe one day soon Bucky will have the pleasure of melting into one of them, book in his lap as it sucks him into a world not of his own… perhaps Steve doing work at his desk. 

Bucky rests his fingers on the desk, imagining Steve sitting here during the day, doing his work, trying to help those who need his help. Why he’s thinking about such a thing, he’s not so sure, but the thought is there, just popping into his mind like his mind is some sort of playground for it. He sighs and finally allows himself a peek at the books.

His fingers graze their spines, bringing him closer to them, somehow making a connection and an unspoken truce. They’ll be here for him when he needs them, these books, hundreds, maybe even thousands that Steve has stored with care on the built-in bookcases. Some of his favorite titles are there, among some he’s never heard of, some in Russian--those Bucky can read with complete fluency--others, he thinks, German and French. A few of the spines are cracked and worn, like Steve’s read them multiple times. _Frankenstein_ is the worst, and, Bucky guesses might be Steve’s favorite. On the shelf with it is _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , also a bit worn. 

Hand moving on its own, Bucky reaches up for it. He carefully takes it from the rest of its friends and thumbs through the first few pages. In just that little bit of time, he feels himself being pulled out of this world and into Maycomb with Scout and Jem. Bucky claps the book closed. He hasn’t the time to get lost right now. He’s due to meet Truvie in--he pulls out his pocket watch again--five minutes ago. 

“Damn it.” He mutters as he tosses the book onto one of the cloud-chairs and hurries down to meet her.

~~

Music still blasts through the horn of the phonograph. _Who is the betrayer? Who’s the killer in the crowd? The One who creeps in corridors and doesn’t make a sound._

Steve’s hands are busy working. They move fast, making quick work of something he barely takes note of. More ice. Shaping into something. He doesn’t know what yet. He’ll let the art decide on its own. But this piece feels somewhat hopeful. Better days to come. 

There’s a hard knock on the door. The noise of it scares away all inspiration, all creativity. The moment is lost, chased away to be found another time. 

“Yes?” He calls out over the music.  
“Lord Rogers,” Truvie answers from the other side. “Supper is ready.”

Of course it is. That would be the only reason, other than an emergency, that anyone would be interrupting him. Steve wipes a hand across the top of his head, realizing only when he feels it that there’s fresh paint on it. He cleans his hands off on his smock before unbuttoning it and tossing it onto one of the wooden stools. Steve turns off the music before giving another answer to Truvie.

“I’ll be right up, Truvie.”  
“Very good, sir.”

Before leaving the room, Steve takes a look at the work he’s accomplished this evening. The canvas that started on the easel he’s been at is drying on the workbench. Steve is actually quite pleased with it. He’ll come back down later to cover everything. 

Closing the door behind him, Steve makes sure it’s locked and then heads up to change for dinner. When he gets to the kitchen, Steve almost falls over his feet at what he sees. There’s his husband, at the stove, wearing an apron around his waist--one of Truvie’s. He holds a laugh in, a laugh that comes unexpectedly and only because he’s surprised. 

There’s a big brass pot on the front burner, a smaller sauce pan on the one next to it, and the unmistakable smell of seafood wafting through the air. Bucky is at the sauce pot, stirring whatever’s in it. The table is already set, a bottle of wine chilling next to it. 

“What’s going on in here?” Steve wonders. 

He announces his presence softly, but just loud enough that he’ll be heard. And his voice definitely does the trick, since not even a second later Bucky turns around, his hand releasing the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir. 

“Cooking lessons.” He says after a moment of silence. “You said I needed to, right? If I don’t, just say the word cause it’s horrible and I hate it and if I don’t need to do it I’ll never, ever do it again. And she’s a saint.” Bucky looks over at Truvie. “You’re a saint. Did I say that already?”  
Truvie laughs. “Multiple times, Lord Barnes.”  
“You cooked?” Steve asks as he steps further into the room.  
A little bit of pink touches Bucky’s cheeks. “Yes. It’s… what you wanted me to do, right?”  
“Yes, I mean, yeah it is. I just didn’t think you were up for it yet.”  
“Well, I figured, I should…” Bucky folds his lips in and must change his mind since he takes the apron off and comes closer to Steve. “Are you hungry, husband? I made… we made lobster.”

A smile tugs on Steve’s mouth. He’s finding he enjoys it when Bucky calls him husband. Likes it more when he calls him by his name, but husband works. Steve would like to touch him right now. Ideally, he’d love to pull him in for a hug, but taking hold of his hand would be nice. He does neither.

“I am, Bucky. Thank you.”  
“Why don’t you two sit down?” Truvie suggests. “I’ll get you all set.”  
“Um, is that…” Bucky bites his lip. “Okay?”  
Steve nods. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s sit down. I have two more questions to go.”  
His husband brightens back up. “Oh good. I have a good one ready.”

Fighting back another grin, Steve holds his hand out. Bucky doesn’t seem to hesitate when he takes it, warm fingers closing around Steve’s. Heat sinks into Steve’s skin, plummeting deep into his bones, yet sending a chill to the rest of his body. The action, or the perhaps the normalcy of it, must surprise Bucky. He looks down at their hands and then up to Steve as he leads him to the table in the morning room, his brow ruffled, unspoken thoughts forming in the creases. Bucky’s about the break away, to go take the seat at the other end of the table like he has been doing, only Steve doesn’t let him. He gets a pair of eyes peering up at him, two bright orbs of curiosity.

“Why don’t you sit here?” Steve pulls out the chair next to his. “That’s, uh, where… y’know…”

Bucky nods, understanding. This is more House Rogers’ tradition, household spouses’ seating arrangements. At least Bucky doesn’t seem put off by this. In fact, he looks at the chair with a smile. Some inside joke he’s sharing with it. Steve is not privvy. 

“Smells good.” Steve compliments when they’re seated.  
“Thank you. I hope it’s as good as it smells.” Bucky sighs. “Cause it wasn’t easy to make. Do you know how annoying it is to make mashed potatoes?”  
Steve laughs. “Yes, actually I do.”  
“Oh, yeah, I guess you would.”

They’re quiet for a while again as Truvie prepares the lobster to be served. Bucky steals glances at Steve. Secrets. He’s trying not to, Steve can tell.

“How was…” Bucky clears his throat. Thoughts stuck in there. “Working? More?” He sighs. “Downstairs?”  
“Oh.” The question catches Steve off guard. He’s not prepared for any questions about him being downstairs, even one as simple as this. An old law on misrepresentation will give Bucky plenty of leverage for divorce and leave Steve shamed. Lies circle around him. Easier than the truth. Not easy to say. Steve replies softly, “Okay.”

Truvie comes in then, saving Steve from the possibility of more questions, though it doesn’t look like Bucky has any. She places their plates down in front of them, and takes to pouring them some wine. Steve is glancing down at his lap and when Truvie moves to fill Bucky’s glass, his eyes lift and he chuckles to find that not only are he and Bucky in the same position, but they’ve looked up at the same time. 

“Let’s see how you did.” Steve remarks as he let’s his fork melt into a piece of lobster.  
“You’re not gonna divorce me if it’s not good, are you?”  
Steve laughs with his mouth full. “I only said you needed to learn. Not that you had to be good at it it.” He assures him. “But no need anyway. This is pretty good.”

Bucky gives him a wounded look, mouth falling open and hand over his chest. Teasing. He’s playing with him, Steve is sure of it. 

“Just _pretty_ good?”  
Steve pinches his fingers together. “This good?”  
He gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I guess that’ll have to do.” Bucky looks at his hands. “Guess that means you guys really are talentless.” He looks back up and Steve, eyes like diamonds, and shrugs. “You said you weren’t gonna leave me though. Sorry. Your stuck with me now. No talent and everything.”

Steve’s mouth is still full of his second fork-full. He’s stopped chewing to just stare at his husband. There’s a playful expression on Bucky’s face, but something in the way he says that, and the memory of him saying something about being a shitty person earlier today, it makes Steve think he’s not fully joking. 

The small grin on Buckys face falls and he busies himself with eating. His husband has taken to stuffing food in his mouth to keep from talking, sipping his wine to wash it down and maybe find a bit of courage from it. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t like Bucky talking like that, especially doesn’t like the thought of him looking down upon himself. He hates it. 

“So, um… did you want…” Bucky pushes some food around on his dish. Silence from it, “to take a turn?”  
“A turn…” Steve mulls the idea over in his head. He’ll have to address Bucky’s self-deprecating comments later. “Hmm… anxious to go again?”

Bucky’s still looking down at his plate, but his lips turn up into a smile. Eyes lifting to meet Steve’s, he nods. 

“I told you. I have a good one.”  
“Why don’t I just let you go?”  
“No!” Bucky nearly whines. “That’d be cheating!”

Steve laughs. Held in only a little. 

“Okay, okay. First question. Beach or lake?”  
Bucky crinkles his nose. “What?”  
“Well… “ Steve likes that little face Bucky makes when he confuses him. “You don’t like being cold, right?” His husband nods in agreement. “So, I’m thinking you like summer best. Leading me to believe you probably like to swim. Or, at least, to be out in the sun. So… beach or lake?”

Groaning, Bucky drums fingers over the table. Long, lean fingers that tap, tap, tap with deliberate slowness. 

“Just so I’m clear,” He says, “is this a thing you always do?”  
“What?”  
“You being a bit of a know-it-all?”  
“If by know-it-all you mean being able to read people pretty accurately, then… yes.”

His husband fights back a smile, lips working against him in a very valiant effort to brighten his face.

“Beach.” He finally answers. “I like the sand between my toes.”

An image dances in front of Steve’s eyes. Bucky sprawled across a towel on a sandy beach. Hair splayed across his face. Skin golden in the sun, moist from swimming. Toes curling in the sand. 

“Second question?”  
“Huh?”

Steve is still on the beach with Bucky. A warm summer’s breeze pushes his hair back as he rubs sun oil on his husband’s skin. 

“You have another question before I can go.”

Oh that’s right. He’s not on the beach, comfortable with Bucky, Bucky comfortable with him. They’re in the morning room, eating supper. A supper that Bucky prepared because he’s married up to Steve and Steve needs to make him learn things that Bucky has no desire to learn. 

“Right. Um. Favorite color?”  
“I… you asked me this. Blue, remember?”

Yes. He’d told him that while they were on their honeymoon stay in the farmhouse. Steve grins. 

“Like my eyes.”

Bucky doesn’t hide his face quick enough. Steve still catches the start of a blush. 

“Yes, husband.” He sighs through a smile. Sweet and innocent. “Like your eyes.”  
Steve spares him any further embarrassment and asks, “What’s your favorite meal?”  
“Chocolate doesn’t count?”  
“No.” Steve chuckles. “And I certainly don’t want to hear about my husband eating a meal entirely of chocolate.”  
“Oh darn. There goes my master plan.” Bucky looks at the table and then peers up, giving Steve one of those endearing looks, like maybe the idea of Steve not wanting him to have a chocolate meal really does take a toll on him. “What… if I ask first?”

Long eyelashes blink over two bright eyes, melting Steve’s heart into liquid gold. 

“Maybe. We’ll see. I did say I might spoil you.” Bucky blushes again. “So where’s my answer?”  
“Oh. Lambchops.” He puts his fork down and straightens up. “My turn.”  
Steve laughs. “Excited?”  
“Is _Frankenstein_ your favorite book?”

Steve can only stare out at him for a second. Cold washes through him. He shakes his head and looks around, searching for something that can’t really be found anywhere in the room. 

“How… how’d you know that?”  
“Is that a yes?”  
“I…” His jaw flaps once, then twice before snapping shut. “Yes.”

Bucky picks up his fork and puts some food into his mouth. He’s shimmied in his seat a bit, quite a proud expression on his face. A peacock right next to Steve.

“Are you going to tell me how you know that?”  
“Is that your next question?”  
“No. Answer me. _Now_.” 

Bucky’s face falls and Steve’s voice makes its way into his ears. It’s hard, cold even. Harsh. It’s not meant to be. But this topic. It’s a tense one, personal. _Too_ personal. Scarlett fever. Frankenstein. Pneumonia. Frankenstein. Rheumatic fever. Frankenstein. Coughs, aches, chills, pains. Frankenstein. But that’s not Bucky’s fault. Steve’s just snapped at his husband after he’s been trying so hard this evening. Steve needs to fix this. 

“I’m… sorry. I just… my mom…” Steve rattles his head. His voice is still hard, can’t seem to rid it of that tension. “She used to read it to me, when I was little, little and… y’know, sick.” Not enough. He needs to give him more. Why it means so much. “I used to think I was a monster. I really did. You saw me, how could I not? I said it once. Mom told me that sometimes people who were consider monsters were just… misunderstood. That the real monsters were in the most unlikely places. So she read Frankenstein to me, all the time, until I understood that.”

Heart trembling, Steve’s just handed something soft and fragile to Bucky. Glass and crystal, unique only to him. More so than even the story of his illness and medicines. This is personal, a piece of him. And Steve trusts Bucky with it, to hold onto it carefully. 

“It’s the most worn book in your library.” Bucky whispers, eyes downcast like he’s nervous he’s done something wrong. 

His hands, closed into anxious fists, are on the table. Steve moves to place a hand on Bucky’s left, then remembers he probably won’t like that and leans further over for the right. 

“Look at me.” Bucky’s gaze lifts. Slow and hesitant, but it does. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? And it’s our library.”  
“Ours.” His voice is distant, stuck somewhere in whatever thought he was having that he’s unable to say. “I’m so stupid sometimes.”  
And that’s that. “No. Okay. Rule time.”  
“Rule?”  
“Yeah. Rule. As your headship, I can do that. Make rules for you. I told you,” Steve says genty, “you didn’t do anything wrong. I mean it.”

Bucky’s face has paled. Ghost. White. Sheet. Practically translucent, blue veins mapped along his skin. He’s feared this. Expected it maybe. Now faced with it, he looks ill. 

“What…” Steve can barely hear him.  
Steve pulls his chair closer to Bucky’s. “It’s easy. Or, maybe not so much. I don’t want you talking about yourself like that.”  
“Like…” He scrunches his face in that way Steve usually finds cute. “Like what?”  
“Things like you’re a shitty person. Or that you have no talent. Or…”  
“Or that I’m stupid?” He whispers.  
“Exactly. Nothing like that. I don’t like it. Don’t believe it. Don’t wanna hear it. Do you understand your rule?” Bucky only nods so Steve tries again. “Let me hear you say you understand it.”  
“I understand it, Steve.”

Hand still on Bucky’s, Steve can feel it trembling a bit. He hasn’t tried to pull away yet, even though his left hand his buried in his lap. Steve’s not sure if that’s because he’s still holding it and Bucky feels he can’t or if Bucky wants it there. He slips two fingers under Bucky’s chin--the second his hand’s free, it joins the other in his lap--and coaxes his head up so he can look into his eyes. 

“Do you really think those things, Bucky? Think so little of yourself?”

His husband scans his face, looking for something. Something to trust maybe? Steve’s suddenly riddled with panic. Body ignites with it. Will Bucky ever trust him? Ever find reasons to share those glass and crystal secrets?

“I…” Bucky’s voice squeaks. “No. And yes.”  
“Sometimes.”

More often than not. Not the faults and flaws every person has. A temper or stubbornness. More than that. Deeper. A monster that’s in his eyes. One that didn’t exist when Steve first met him as a child who whispers cruel and untrue things, casts darkness and shadows across his soul. Steve wants to reach in and pull it out, vanquish it to the deepest corners of the earth so it can’t ever reach Bucky again. 

“Kiss me?”

Bucky’s voice pierces through the silence. Hot and heavy, lingering. Steve is so startled that he’s sure he’s heard wrong. 

“What?”  
“Please?”  
“Are you sure?”

He nods and Steve leans forward, presses his lips to his husband’s. Unlike their first kiss--tense, formal--or their second--sweet, but guarded--this one is hard, intense. Bucky wraps fingers into Steve’s hair, breathes hot breaths into his mouth. He pulls Steve in closer, tries to devour him. 

When Steve tries to break away, Bucky tries to keep him there. Steve has to bring his own hands to the hands in his hair and unwind them. The metal one would be trickier--there are small swishing noises coming from it as Bucky attempts to tighten his grip--but when Steve takes hold of it, and Bucky realizes, he pulls back. 

Once they’re apart, breaths heavy, hard, Steve’s tingling and confused, he stares at Bucky. His pupils are blown, black almost completely covering the icy-blue. Black and lust to drown out every other emotion. Left to primal and instinct. And Steve understands. 

“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.” Steve leans in and kisses Bucky’s forehead. “Not like this. Okay? Not like this. I’m not going to cover this up with sex. It won’t fix it, okay? I fucked up.” He gathers up Bucky’s right hand in both of his. They’re large enough that his disappears within them. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.” His husband starts to shake and the gravity of what Steve’s done finally hits them both. Wrong words, wrong tone. World’s come undone too fast for him to put together with just a story of his mother reading to him. Steve kisses Bucky’s knuckles before stroking his hand along the side of his face. “This is all on me, okay? I didn’t expect you to bring that book up. And you were excited and you had every reason to be.”  
Bucky glances up at him and says, “I’m not usually this sensitive.” His voice is shakey, soft, scared even.  
“New situation? I snapped at you. I’m sorry.”  
“Me too.”  
“You have no reason to be. My fault. All of this. I’m so sorry.” Steve has both hands on Bucky’s face now, running them up and down, through his hair, across his cheek, over his jaw. Gentle touches, reminders. He’ll take care of him, so long as he’ll allow it. “I’m sorry, Bucky. Please say you’ll forgive me.”  
“I do, Steve. It’s okay. I’m…” Sounds like he’s going to apologize again, but gobbles it back down. “I’m okay.”

He sounds stronger now. Damage done. Repaired. Not without consequences. 

“Is it okay if I get a do-over?” Steve asks.  
Bucky chuckles. “You do have some catching up to do.”

Smiling, Steve kisses him again. Absentminded. Not thinking. He wants to and just does. Bucky kisses him back. Quick. Once. A peck on the lips. A familiar, casual exchange of affection. They avoid eyes, but Steve touches his own lips, brushing fingertips against them. 

“Alright. Um, I have something… for you.”  
“Ah.” Bucky sounds lighter. “There’re those words again.”  
“Your five favorite.”  
“Right.” 

A tense grin fixes on Bucky’s mouth. Lips tight, trying to make things okay. Steve is still touching Bucky, reluctant not to. Breaking the contact might destroy everything again. He knows it won’t. It’s illogical. But Bucky likes to be touched and Steve likes touching Bucky--keeps them both here, in the now. Or maybe just Steve.

Bucky’s eyes glide to the side. Sure sign of thoughts racing. He says, “Or are you just a giant tease, husband? Meanest person in the world, remember?”  
“I remember,” Steve chuckles. “And maybe you won’t get it if you keep being a smart ass.”

Steve panics briefly. Too little too late. He’s fooling with his husband, but maybe it’s too soon after that little thunderstorm. But Bucky pulls his thumb and index finger across his mouth to zip it closed, even locks it. Tosses the key away for added measure. Steve laughs and then reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt, severing the skin to skin connection. World doesn’t fall apart again. He pulls out the invitation for the nightclub opening he received in the mail and slides it across the table. 

The wax seal makes a sticky sound when Bucky lifts it up. He only needs a brief moment to scan it. The invitation tells him quickly what he needs to know. Eyes rise, bright and merry, to meet Steve’s.

“An opening? Did you…” There’s cautious optimism there. Bucky’s told him he’s watched his interviews. He must know how Steve usually handles these things. “Did you want to make an appearance?”

Right. An appearance. Waves and smiles for the cameras. Blackties, a few words, a walk around the perimeter and then a mad dash for home. Not like Bucky. Waves and smiles for the cameras. Blackties, words and conversations, drinks and dancing, late night rendezvous. 

“Do you want me to order a table?” Steve offers. “I can if you’d like.”  
“Oh.” He pulls his eyebrows is. “That’s not… you don’t usually do that.”  
“Your friends’ll be there.” He points out. “And that’s not what I asked you.” Steve smirks. “Do I need to make that a rule, too?”  
“No!” Bucky answers quickly. “Yes. I mean, no to the rule thing. Yes, to… the table? If that’s… okay?”  
“Okay.” Steve nods, smiling. For his husband. “Okay. Come here.” Hand resting on the back of Bucky’s head, he gently brings their brows together. Touch reconnected. “What’s that rule again?”  
He sucks in a deep breath. Oxygen for strength, and recites, “Don’t talk bad about myself.”  
“I’ll order a table. Good?”  
“Good. Yes. Thank you, Steve.”  
“You’re welcome.” His eyes are stuck on Bucky’s. They make him dizzy. Lightheaded and floating. “Can I kiss you again?”  
Bucky smiles. “Only if you say my cooking is,” He spreads his fingers further apart than Steve’s had been, “this good.”

Steve laughs, and Bucky presses a kiss onto his lips before he can even agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you go! Two chapters that I really hope you enjoyed. I love hearing from you guys so as always feel free to tell me what you think. You can always find me on tumblr if you want at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And let's end this week with
> 
> Right after Bucky kisses Steve's cheek again and hides in his room
> 
>  
> 
> Bucky eating dinner with Steve ((For my American readers please note the way Sebastian Stan holds his utensils. That's actually going to be a thing in this story! Thank you European etiquette!))
> 
>  
> 
> After Steve asks for another kiss
> 
>  
> 
> Minus the tie, we have Steve getting ready to go down to do some work in his studio
> 
>  
> 
> Steve feeling incredibly guilty after snapping at Bucky 
> 
>  
> 
> And finally, we'll close it out with Steve asking Bucky if he wants to go out
> 
> Well, I hope you all enjoyed an extra long update this week. Like I said, it _is_ my hopes to continue with my weekly updates and not make you wait any longer than that, so I do hope to see you same time next week!


	10. Chapter Ten a Big Fat Hen

Fingers knead gently into his scalp. Lathered shampoo, vanilla scented, Bucky thinks, is worked into his hair. The barber’s chair is leaned all the way back so that Bucky’s head is over the restroom sink, a warm and moist, rolled up towel under his neck. There’s a man on a stool to his right, giving him a manicure. Workers hired just for today. Bucky’s feet are resting in a bucket of hot water, petals of roses floating around, and in a little while they’ll be massaged and then given a pedicure. He feels nice. Relaxed, comfortable. Normal even. Getting ready to go out to an event, tonight’s opening, feels right.

He’s shirtless. On either side of the chair are two wood burning sauna stoves. Steam rises from the hot stones, settling on his bare chest. Warm and soft rainfall indoors. Bucky’s eyes are closed as the woman standing behind him washes his hair. When he sucks in a deep breath, her fingers pause. 

Bucky opens his eyes only to catch her gaze. The second their eyes meet, she not only drops them, she needs to hold in a shy grin and blushes. Makes Bucky smile, feel good. He can still produce a blush with just a look. Before she can resume her work, he reaches up with his free left hand and takes hold of her wrist.

“What’s your name?” He asks. 

She dips her head down, appropriate before speaking to someone in Society. 

“Teresa, m’Lord.” She answers softly, almost nervously.  
“Pretty.” Bucky compliments, voice soft, velvet and silk, enough to make her cheeks turn pink again. “Teresa, I’m not made out of glass, dear. You can press harder.”  
“Oh… my… my apologies, m’Lord.”  
Bucky chuckles. “No need.” He makes himself more comfortable, causing the man at his hand to have to pause for a moment. “You’re doing a lovely job.”  
“Thank you, sir.” She replies as she goes back to work, this time pressing more firmly into his scalp.  
“Mmm,” Bucky coos, closing his eyes again. “That’s even better.”

He gets a giggle for that response. Maybe nervous, maybe flattered. He’s not sure. At the moment, he’s too excited about tonight to really care. He’s going out tonight. They’re going out. Him and Steve. Bucky’s going out with his husband. Or rather, his husband, headship, is taking him out. Doesn’t matter. Bucky’s going out. To an opening, too. Bucky smiles again.

As Steve pointed out the evening he promised to take him, Bucky’s friends’ll be there. They don’t know yet that he’s coming. He didn’t tell them. Wants it to be a surprise. Though, quite honestly, he’s not a hundred percent sure how the night is supposed to work. 

Without thinking, Bucky picks his head up, and Teresa yanks her fingers back. He puts his head back down. 

“Oops.” He chuckles. “Sorry, Teresa.” Bucky wiggles his fingers to the man working on them. “Would you fetch Truvie for me?”  
“Truvie, m’Lord?” Like Teresa, he bows his head.  
“The housekeeper.”  
“Oh, yes, certainly, sir.”

He places Bucky’s fingers in a glass bowl of oils and hurries off to do as requested.

If anyone can tell Bucky what will be expected of him tonight it’s Truvie. Bucky’s spent every evening with her in the kitchen since the beginning of last week. He adores Truvie. Still apologizes for how he treated her that morning and still detests cooking. It’s a hot, long, sweaty, gruelling process. Hit or miss, too. Too much of this or not enough of that will cause the whole thing to go up in smoke. Admittedly, it _is_ quite enjoyable to see Steve’s reaction to all the meals Bucky’s made. 

So far, he’s liked the roasted chicken and red potatoes the best, and the salmon the least. That made Bucky feel bad since he learned through their game that salmon is his favorite so he really wanted to make that well. To Steve’s credit, he tried really hard to lie and _pretend_ that he liked it, but… as it turns out, Steve’s just not a very good liar. 

“I’ll try again.” Bucky told him when Steve stopped mid-chew, first bite. “Hopefully it’ll be better.”  
“No, no. It’s fine. Good. It’s not bad. Really. I like it. Really.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve hadn’t even swallowed that first bite.

“I’ll try it again.” 

These past two weeks have gone smoother than the first two. Less awkward. A little pleasant, or comfortable. Not just spent cooped up in the bedroom, still packed in boxes. A few more words. Even more of their game.

What’s your favorite holiday? Christmastide. Why? Family.

Steve must have realized his answer upset Bucky since he gave him another piece of cake and didn’t talk again until he did. 

When did you meet Sam? Jogging in the park, about a year after my procedure. What’s your favorite drink? Water. Really? Water? Yep. Alcohol? Actually, I just like a good ol’ beer. How about dessert? Apple cake. What the hell is apple cake? (Steve had laughed) I’ll have Truvie make it some time. What’s your favorite thing to do? Play cards.

That one was a lie, and it threw Bucky enough that he didn’t know what to do. 

As far as Bucky can tell, Steve’s only lied that once. Never before, never after. Not even with that whole Frankenstein incident. Bucky still feels bad about that, about stumbling upon something so close and personal to his heart that it made Steve snap at him at the mention of it. Bucky has a feeling it had more to do with his mother being the one who read it to him than the book itself. Steve is close to his mom, Bucky can tell that much, and that book is something shared between them. Bucky didn’t know how to react to Steve in that moment. So much ran through him. Mistrust, a bit of fright, a rush of tears. Like he told Steve that evening, he’s not usually so sensitive. 

It’s just, Steve’s been so patient and understanding, and that swift and sudden change hit Bucky hard, took him by surprise. He felt bad about it, Steve did. The look on his face, the moisture in his eyes, it all screamed panic. Like he’d ruined everything and could never, ever fix it. He did fix it though. Bucky didn’t understand how he managed it so quickly. A warm touch that never seemed to want to leave him. Deep eyes that melted his insides. Kind words that latched onto his soul, becoming a part of it. 

There is that rule though, the one Steve came up with that night. Bucky scrunches his face thinking about it. Behind him, Teresa pulls her hands away again, now working on conditioning his hair. 

“I’m sorry, m’Lord. Was that… too hard?”  
“Oh. No. You’re fine, Teresa.”

She goes back to work, and Bucky goes back to thinking about his husband’s rule. His rule, really. Steve’s threatened to lock up all the sweets, that seem to have multiplied, in the house if he doesn’t follow it. Bucky whined. Gave his husband his best puppy dog eyes. Still has the threat. Steve must have told Truvie about it too, since she’s given him a few warning looks when he’s slipped up and insulted himself. So far, she’s not given him up to his husband, and the sweets are still readily available. 

It’s not so much that it’s a _bad_ rule, so far as rules go. It’s just that it’s a rule. He has a rule that he has to follow. A rule. _It was only a matter of time._ That’s what he tries to tell himself. How he tries to look at it. Deal with it. The thought though, whenever it hits, makes him think of what Alexander told him, about not being able to live like this for the rest of his life. Bucky doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. This one isn’t bad. Good for him probably. What if the next one isn’t?

“You wanted to see me, Lord Barnes?”

Bucky smiles at the sound of Truvie’s voice. He can’t look at her though, not with Teresa rising his hair.

“I do. Thank you, Truvie.” He says. “I was wondering if you could tell me what to expect from Steve tonight.”  
“Instead of asking your husband yourself, sir?”

Bucky grimaces. Despite his rocky start with the housekeeper, he and Truvie have come to a silent, but mutual agreement. He treats her with kindness and respect and she’s been giving him tips in how to fit in the House better, which sometimes might include pointing out when he’s not doing something smart. Like not communicating his own concerns with his husband. From next to him, he can hear Teresa hold in a giggle.

“Are you laughing at me?”  
“No! I, I beg your pardon m’Lord, I…”

She’s stammering. Worried. Bucky’s only joking with her, but she must not have much experience with being teased, playfully anyway, by people in Society. Bucky feels bad. 

Before he can put her at ease, Truvie places a hand on her shoulder and says, “Don’t mind Lord Barnes, dear. He’s a sweetheart. Really. One thing Society wasn’t lying about.”  
“She’s right.” Bucky agrees. “Well, I dunno about the sweetheart thing. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m just playing with you.”

Relief spreads across Teresa’s face with her smile as she guides Bucky to sit up, running a towel over his hair. At the same time, the man who's been working on his hand starts with his feet. 

“So, you’d like to know what you might expect tonight.” Truvie says, and now that Bucky’s seated upright, he can see her. “I imagine he’ll be mostly concerned with making sure you’re having a good time.”  
“But…” Bucky sighs. “Steve doesn’t usually stay at these things, right? He shows up for a little while and then leaves?”  
“That’s right. Crowds make him anxious. So do live interviews and loud places. He prefers intimate scenes, personal company, quiet places. Keeps him comfortable.”  
“Hm.” There are plenty of thoughts racing through his mind. None that he can voice. “Thanks, Truvie.”  
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Lord Barnes?”  
“No. That’s all.”  
“Very well, m’Lord. I’ll have your suit set out for you in your room.”  
“Okay. Thank you, Truvie.”

She leaves then, and all Bucky can think of is this marriage and how it’s doomed to misery. There’s just no way it can work. He and Steve are two completely different people. 

_You like Steve though._ His heart reminds him.  
 _Yes. I think. Well enough. But…_

But Steve gets up at the crack of dawn to run for at least an hour. Bucky will sleep until the very last second. Steve prefers fruits and vegetables, not entirely his choice given his history with illness, but Bucky will eat an entire meal out of chocolate, cake, pastries, ice cream, sugar, until his stomach bursts and then blame the food. Steve enjoys a cold beer. Bucky likes wine and liquor and mixed drinks with added flavors.

 _Stop nitpicking._ Logic scolds.  
 _Sorry. You’re right._

Still, Bucky goes out dancing. Steve stays in for a quiet evening. Bucky wants hustle and bustle. Steve wants peace. Bucky can take or leave, but enjoys the spotlight. Steve will avoid it whenever he can. 

Bucky’s excitement for tonight’s upcoming events is dwindling. He wants to cry again, the way he did the day of his wedding. 

How can this work? How is this ever going to work?

***

Thirty minutes later, Bucky stands in front of the three-piece full length mirror in his bedroom. Teresa is standing behind him and brushes her hand across his right shoulder to flatten his sleeve. 

“Lord Rogers has excellent taste.” She comments.

Bucky knows what she means. He bought the suit for him for the occasion. White button down shirt--silk, very soft, not buttoned up all the way--black vest, darker black suit jacket, suit and shirt collars both long and over-sized, grey stitching. Matching slacks. Comfortable, polished shoes. He can’t resist teasing though. Hopes she’s picking up on his humor.

“In clothes or men?”  
She smirks. “Both?”  
He laughs. “Good answer.”  
“Well,” She gives his collar one last fix. “I think you’re all ready, m’Lord.”

Taking a minute to twist and turn, Bucky admires his reflection in the mirror. Teresa’s done an excellent job in grooming him. Hair slicked to the side, shiny and smooth, not greasy, nice to put his fingers though. Teresa slaps his fingers away. Bucky smiles. At least he’s made her comfortable enough to do so. She hasn’t gotten a very close shave. His skin isn’t silky smooth the way it has been in the past. There’s some stubble on it, not a lot, just enough to be seen. 

_A… twelve o’clock shadow_. His skin decides.  
Bucky laughs. _Sounds good_.

“Is it all to your satisfaction, m’Lord?”  
“Yes. It is.” Stubble and all. “You’ll get my recommendations.”

He’ll give her a tip, too, or well, technically speaking, Steve will, since all Bucky’s earnings go and belong to Steve now. Nothing his husband can do about that. He’s given Bucky access to the account, so giving Teresa her tip is not a problem. The recommendation is more important to her though. Bucky’s married high enough in Society that his word can mean a lot of good business for her. 

“Thank you, m’Lord.” She replies, big, pleased grin on her face. Relieved. Stunned even. She packing her things, getting ready to leave, when she looks up at him and says, “Begging your pardon if I’m out of line, sir, but… I think… I think you and Lord Rogers have been the most pleasurable customers I have worked for.”  
“Not out of line at all, Teresa. Thank you.”  
“He…” Teresa hesitates, like she’s sure this next one’s going to be the one that goes over the line. “He thinks quite fondly of you, sir.”  
“Who?”  
She blinks. Tilts her head. “Lord Rogers, sir.”  
Chin lowered, Bucky feels his face heat with a blush. “Oh. Really?”  
“Really, m’Lord. Smitten, I think is the word. It’s cute. I think you’ll be happy if you let yourself.”

Bucky picks his head back up, and her lips fold in. Realizes she’s pushed the familiarity too far. 

_Maybe she’s right_. His gut pushes.  
 _Shut up. We’re not talking about this_. 

“Are you married, Teresa?”  
She’s no longer looking at him. “N-no, m’Lord. But, my friend, Evelyn, and I have talked. About courting.”

Just like that, Bucky is jealous. Instant jealously. Of this woman who was hired to serve him, who he can make or break with just a few words. She doesn’t know. Can’t understand. _Doesn’t mean she can’t be right._

Bucky steps up to her, leans in. Kisses her cheek. “You have my good word, Teresa. Good luck with your friend.”  
“I…” She looks a little flustered, but recovers enough to say, adding the appropriate bow of the head, “Many thanks, m’Lord.”

Since she still needs to gather some more of her things to clean up, Bucky goes to meet Steve. He’s waiting for him in the downstairs parlor. Now that he’s all ready, spiffed up, bathed in special, scented oils, he’s getting excited again. Smile on his face, he keeps himself from jogging down the rest of the steps. 

Bucky nearly stumbles down them all when he sees Steve. He’s standing next to the table, one hand on his hip, the other twirling a pencil. His husband has pencils on him a lot. In his hands, stuffed in his pockets, behind his ears. He has a lot of notebooks, too, not just the one he had with him at the farmhouse. Steve writes in them a lot, maybe the reason he has pencils on him. That’s not what makes Bucky falter. 

What does that is how Steve looks. And how he looks is incredible in that suit. It’s not as formal as his wedding tux, but it’s different than when he comes into the city to work from City Hall--which he’s done three additional times to ride with Bucky. It’s chic, modern even. Straight lined white shirt--top button undone--no vest or cumberban, black suit jacket falling just short of his wrists so that his shirt shows. Bow tie around his neck, but it’s not tied, so it’s just a thin silk cloth at the moment. Instead of a pocket watch, Steve has a watch around his wrist. Unlike Bucky, his face is completely smooth, but their hair is styled similarly. Teresa groomed them both, and it seems like she went out of her way to make have their styles compliment each other. 

Steve brings the eraser of the pencil he’s been twirling in his fingers up to his lips. Presses it to them. Deep in thought. 

_You adore deep in thought Steve._ His eyes observe.  
 _Can’t you just keep your opinions to yourself sometimes?_

Bucky sighs and the noise is soft though it must be loud enough to catch Steve’s attention since he looks up. Eraser still at his lips, he smiles. Bucky’s lungs forget how to take in oxygen. Steve comes to the bottom of the stairs and looks up.

“Bucky?” He says his name carefully, like it needs to be held softly. “Are you okay? You coming?”

 _Sure. As soon as he remembers how to walk._ His legs tease.  
 _Come on. Please work for me._

His legs have mercy on him and let Bucky feel them again. Once the feeling returns, he goes down the rest of the stairs and stops on the bottom one, placing him just at Steve’s height. 

“You alright?” Steve asks once he’s there.  
“Mhmm,” Bucky grins. “You look nice. Are you going out with this untied?”

Bucky flicks the bottom of the untied bowtie. Steve glances down at it and then back up at Bucky, sheepish look on his face.

“It was too tight. I have to, uh, ask Truvie to redo it for me.”  
Bucky chuckles. “Don’t you know how to tie a bowtie?”  
He makes an embarrassed noise in the back of his throat and doesn’t look at him when he answers, “No. I don’t.”  
“Ha. Look at you. Gentleman of High Society. Doesn’t even know how to tie his bowtie.” Bucky gives him a tsk, tsk and a playful snicker. “Come here, husband.”

Steve steps forward and Bucky lifts both his husband’s collar and chin, then carefully, with expert and skillful fingers, does his bowtie up for him. He finishes up quickly, making sure it’s even with the collar and not too flat.

“Okay?” He checks with Steve, still fussing a bit with the bow itself. “Not too tight?”  
“Perfect.”

There’s a smile in his voice. A big one. Big enough that it makes Bucky want to look at him. Sure enough, that smile is there. 

“What?”  
“Nothing.” Steve laughs and touches Bucky’s chin, then his cheek, running fingertips over the coarse stubble. “I like this.”  
“Mm. Thank you.”  
“Can I kiss your cheek, Bucky? See what that feels like?”  
He holds back a playful eyeroll. “Yes. You know you don’t have to ask, right? As headship?”  
“I know it.” Steve leans in, does as Bucky said he could. Lips pressed against Bucky’s cheek. Moist. Tender. Becoming familiar. “But as your husband, I will continue to ask until you’re comfortable with me doing it without asking. And if you’re never comfortable, I’ll never stop asking. Deal?”

Bucky holds in a whimper. How does Steve do this thing? This thing that makes him feel weak all over? Say the right thing? Perfect things. 

“Deal.”  
“Good. Ready?”  
Bucky smiles and nods. Excitement abounds. “Yes.”

Returning the smile, Steve nods his head towards the entryway and they both head over there, get on their frock coats and derbies, and head out.

When the motorcar pulls on line with the rest of the motocars to get to the front of the new nightclub, the name HYDRA flickering on marquee, Bucky’s stomach jumps with joy. He can already see the light bulbs of cameras flashing, hear the murmur of a crowd that will grow louder the closer they get, tops of people’s heads lined up to catch a glimpse of Society. People he’ll wave to and smile at and blow kisses to.

Bucky’s so distracted by what’s out the window that he almost forgets he’s not alone. From next to him, he hears Steve draw in a deep breath. Looking over, he’s surprised to see his husband’s eyes shut up tight. Nightmare tight. Monsters and ghosts he’s trying to keep out. His body’s tense, hands clenched and trembling. 

“Steve? Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine.”

 _He’s lying_. His ears say.  
 _I know_.

“You’re not fine. Please tell me.”

Steve opens one eye, looks at Bucky with it and then opens the other with a sigh. 

“Scared.” He admits. “This makes me nervous. The cameras, questions, people. I’ll… um.” He swallows hard, rubs his eyes, and clenches fists again. “I’ll be okay.”

Truvie wasn’t exaggerating.

“What do you usually do?” Bucky wonders. “To calm down?”  
“Um, well, I just…” He hesitates, stretches his lips, but holds his fists up, opens them, closes them again. “I dunno.”  
“Whoa, Steve. Let me see that.”  
“What?”

Steve let’s Bucky take hold of his right hand and Bucky trails his fingers across his open palm, over the crescent shaped indents in his skin. Bucky’s stomach flips. His husband is so nervous that he squeezes his hands so hard it leaves marks on his palms. 

“No. Steve, you’re not going to do this anymore. Stop. Now.”  
“Bucky, it doesn’t hurt.”  
“No, Steve!” Bucky interrupts. “You’re not allowed. To do that.”  
“But…”  
“No!”

Steve’s face falls and lets his fists come undone. For the first time since ever being with him, Bucky feels bigger than his husband. It’s as though Steve’s suddenly shrunk to half his size, to that little guy he met at the New Years Gala. They’re inching closer to the nightclub though, and Bucky’s just taken away his means of comfort. He’s not sure why Steve’s listened to him. There’s no reason for him to. And Bucky especially shouldn’t be able to speak to his headship that way and get away with it. He’s glad he does though. Bucky doesn’t want Steve to do anything that might cause any harm, no matter how slight it may be. 

When they get even closer, next to pull up to the front, Steve’s eyes throw a frantic glance out the window.

“Bucky…?” He whimpers.  
“Okay…” Bucky needs to think quick. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll answer the questions. Not the ones they ask just you though. I’m not allowed. Is that okay?” Steve nods. They’re in front now, car in park, Stiles coming to open the door. “Alright. And here.” He holds out his right hand, then thinks of something better and hands over his left. “Squeeze as hard as you need. You won’t break it.” It all happens fast, but Steve looks like he’s going to cry. Good tears. Happy ones. Honored. “Don’t get all mushy on me, okay?” He teases. “And don’t ask. The answer is yes.”

Steve smiles as he takes hold of his metal hand for the first time and leans in to kiss him.

They get through the circus fairly quickly, moving through faster than Bucky normally would. As promised, Bucky fields all the questions aimed at the hottest newly weds. 

Yes, married life is treating us quite well. A change indeed. Something I needs to discuss with my headship, but it’s possible we’ll be showing up at more events. We haven’t discussed children yet, maybe we can start with a dog, or a cat first. 

The press asked to see a kiss. Bucky assumed Steve would just do it. But those eyes of his still sought that permission he swore he’d get until it wasn’t needed. Bucky gave it. They kissed. Lights flashed, people cheered, they smiled for the cameras. 

Steve had one question that only he could answer. What’s it like being married to Society’s Sweetheart? Sweet, of course. They laughed. Bucky laughed, too. He can’t understand why Steve is so nervous. He seems such a natural. But he still has Bucky’s metal hand held tightly in his, even as they’re taken to their table in the VIP section. 

They’re on the second level while general admission, a huge line wrapped around the block waiting for their chance to get in, will be on the first. 

The seats up here are all spaced out. Big, plush seats and couches around round tables, already set up with d'oeuvres and chilled wine--white and red and blush. Huge chandeliers hang from the ceilings. Big pieces with teardrop crystals and flamed shaped bulbs cupped in glass, the whole thing surrounded by iron work. It throws off a lot more light than most places like this. Bucky likes it. Likes the big clocks on the walls, too. Several of them. Large brass gears all turning together to show the time. 

Someone taps Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him away from taking in the the three tiered stage where the band is setting up. It’s Steve, and he’s grinning widely at him. He’s taken his hand back.

“You feel better?” Bucky asks.  
“Yes. Thank you.” Then he points at something to the right of them. “Look.”

Bucky looks. At first he’s not sure what he’s supposed to see. There’s quite a lot going on. Staff bustling about, people talking, smoking, laughing. Then he spots them. Three tables away. Natalia, Clint, and Maria. Bucky lights up. He can feel his entire body come to life and he hops right off the couch he’s on. Even takes a step forward. 

“Uh…” He stops and turns back to Steve. “I’m sorry. Do you want…” No. He’ll say yes even if it’s just to please him. “I’d like you to meet them. Will you come with me?”  
Steve smiles, and Bucky wonders if he’s glad he asked. “Sure.”

Even more excited now, Bucky keeps a few paces ahead of Steve as he makes his way over to his friends, all of them with their backs to him. As soon as he’s close enough, he flings his long arms around Natalia. He startles her, he can tell by the way she jumps a little, so he backs away before she can hurt him, which she has in the past without knowing it was him. 

“Bucky!” She shrieks, followed by two more from Maria and even Clint.  
“Hi!” He says, both with voice and hands. “Surprised?” Bucky gets a punch in the arm from Natalia. “Hey, ow! What was that for?”  
She holds onto the cream-colored shawl around her shoulders. “For not letting us know you were going to be here.”

Bucky’s rubbing his arm, jaw dropped, and looks to Clint for help first. But Clint shrugs. 

“ _Hey. You should know better by now_.”

Bucky frowns and tries Maria. And gets hit just as hard.

“Aw, come on! Can’t I even get a hello?”  
“Hello.” Maria gives him with a playful purse on her lips. “Look at you, Bucky. Looking very sharp tonight.”

Before he can give any sort of response, all three of them rise to their feet and bow their heads once. Bucky’s not quite sure what they’re doing until he glances over his shoulder, sees Steve standing just behind him. His husband, higher than them in status. Technically he is now, too, but this amount of ceremony is something they know he’d never expect from them. He doesn’t really think Steve does either, but it’s not something they can risk. 

Now everyone is just standing there. Quiet. Awkward. Waiting for something to happen. Status wise, it’s up to Steve. None of Bucky’s friends should do anything without his move and Bucky shouldn’t do anything without the permission of his headship. But Bucky knows Steve is waiting for him, because socially, Steve is nervous. He doesn’t look it, not with that open and pleasant look on his face, but he is. His hands are flat, but it looks like he’s trying to keep them that way. Stiff and rigid, shaking because of it. All because Bucky’s told him to. 

_Will you do something?_ His brain shouts.  
 _I… what?_  
 _How about introductions?_

“I…” He groans and rattles his head. “Wow. I’m such an idiot.”

Bucky’s about to introduce Steve to his friends, introduce the man he’s already married to, to the three people who mean almost as much to him as his--former--family, when Steve leans in and clears his throat right in his ear. It startles him. He looks back at his husband. Steve is giving him an amused look. Amused, yet intense.

“What?” Bucky asks, and then what he’s just said _I’m such an idiot_ registers. Eyes wide, Bucky exclaims, “No! Steve, I… _Steve_ , it was an accident!”

That look is still all over Steve’s face. Amused and intense. All the tension of being in the loud and crowded place seems to have disappeared and his arms are now crossed loosely over his chest. Public-Steve, anxious, awkward has left, leaving Bucky staring at Private-Steve, sure, confident. It’s like everyone around them has faded away. They’re in Steve’s morning room, just the two of them, and Steve has caught him breaking the one rule he has. Steve lifts his eyebrows, puts a finger to his ear.

“What was that? You’re a what?”  
Bucky rolls his head back. “Sorry?”  
Steve chuckles. “Mhm.”  
“We’ll… talk about it later?”  
“Yup.” Steve grins and gestures to everyone else, everyone who’s suddenly reappeared. “Did you want to introduce us?”

Bucky has to hold in a smirk before facing his friends. Steve’s done that thing again. Perfect words. Bucky feels warm all over.

“Um, everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my husband…” Bucky pauses with his words and hands. He’s not sure what to call him. “Uh… Lord… Rogers?”  
“...We need to talk more.” Steve says softly just to him, not disappointed in Bucky, in himself. “Steve.” He clarifies. “I’m Steve.”  
“Okay.” Bucky nods. “This is Steve. Steve, this is Natalia, House Romanov, Maria, House Hill, and Clint, House Barton.”

They all give the appropriate nod when they’re each named. Steve looks a tad uncomfortable with the amount of respect shown to him, but he accepts it and smiles back at all of them. He takes a minute to say something and when he does, he speaks slow, and shocks Bucky when he uses his hands to sign. He fumbles a bit, it’s not graceful or elegant, but he gets it out.

“It’s nice to meet all of you.”

Clint beams with a huge smile. It’s rare that people know how to sign, especially in High Society. No reason to learn. If someone with Clint’s disability, as it’s known in Society, wants to prove they’re not a burden and be accepted, they need to prove it. Learn to communicate effectively. Most of the House Barton don’t even sign with Clint. So when Steve does it, Clint starts signing away without realizing it. Only Steve clearly doesn’t know enough to keep up with him and gives Bucky a bit of a helpless look. Bucky laughs. Catching on to what he’s done, Clint slows and stops, then signs he’s sorry. Steve catches that one and nods.

“He said he didn’t expect you to know how to sign. Thinks it’s awesome that you can.” Bucky frowns. “I didn’t know you could either.”  
“Remember that little kid? The one with the hearing aids I told you about?” Right. He means himself. “His parents thought it’d be a good idea for him to learn. At least a little. I learned a bit, too.” Steve smiles at all of them again. “But, I’ll leave everyone so you can get reacquainted. Maybe we can have you for dinner sometime?”  
“Wait…” Bucky shakes his head. “You’re leaving?”  
“Not leaving. Just going back to our table. You want to be with your friends.”

He’s right. Bucky _does_ want to be with his friends… and just his friends. Thing is, a small part of him wants Steve to join them. There’s that conflict again. Bucky steps to the side, a bit away from the others with him.

“I… it’s not that…”  
“It’s alright, Bucky.” Steve assures him, about to take hold of his left bicep and then switching to his right at the last second. “I understand. I uprooted your life. I won’t take it personally that you want to spend time with your friends. Go. Have fun. I’m telling you to.” His lifts his chin. “As your headship. Okay?”

Bucky snickers. What a way for Steve to use that. 

“Okay. Okay. Thank you, husband.” Getting a smile from him, sweet, chocolate sweet, Bucky goes to join his friends again, stops short and adds, “Steve? You… didn’t uproot my life. It’s… life now? It’s not so bad.”

He gives Steve no chance to respond and just sits down in the spot next to Natalia. They’re all still standing. 

“Sit down.” He requests. “Please. Go ahead. Bombard me.”  
“You _like_ him!” Natalia shouts as she plops next to him. She’s grinning ear to ear, her Cheshire cat grin.  
“What?” He sits up straight. “No I don’t.” They all give him strange looks, doubting his answer. “I don’t!”  
“You do too!” Maria insists. “You should have seen your face when the two of you were talking just on your own. Before you introduced him. Very cute.”  
“Shut up!” Bucky covers his face. “You’re such liars.”  
Clint pulls Bucky’s hands away. “ _They’re right, you know. You looked pretty adorable._ ”  
“Come on, you too?”  
“ _It is okay, you know? To like your husband? A good thing even_.”  
“Oh, yeah, I know.” Bucky twists his lips, shakes his hands out. “It’s not that I _don’t_ like him. I do. Just not the way you guys are saying.”  
“Yeah, guys.” Natalia says, running her hand up and down his back for a second. “Except that you do.”

Bucky groans and falls into her lap. She laughs, brushing her fingers through his hair. None of them think anything of it, not even Clint. There’s nothing between them, not since they were kids, nothing but comfort, a familiar touch and scent. Maybe this will have to change when Natalia and Clint are married, maybe it should change now since Bucky is married to Steve, but it feels too nice to move. 

“What _were_ you talking about?” Maria asks.  
“Before I introduced you?”  
“Uh-huh.” Natalia laughs. “You had that Bucky’s-done-something-wrong-please-forgive-me look.”  
Bucky scoffs. Boy does she know him well. “I, um… aw hell.”  
“What?” she pinches his side.  
“Ow!”  
“Tell us.”  
When her fingers move to his side again Bucky squeaks out, “I broke my rule!”  
Clint reaches over and taps his shoulder. “ _What was that_?”  
“I broke my…” He sighs. “You’re not funny.” Clint didn’t miss what he said. He just wanted him to repeat it.  
“And what rule would that be?” Maria asks.  
“I’m so glad you guys find this humorous.”  
“If it was serious, we wouldn’t.” She promises with an added pat on his thigh, “But you too looked cute and adorable for it to be all that serious. Happy even. So what’s this rule?”

Bucky whines. They’ll pester him until he spills it though, just like he would to any of them. 

“I’m…” His fingers fumble a bit as he tries to sign and mumble. Not sure why he’s mumbling though. They can all read his fingers perfectly. “I’m not allowed to say anything bad about myself.”

There’s a moment of silence. Followed by a burst of laughter from all three of them. Bucky sighs, head still in Natalia’s lap as they have a go at him. 

“Wow. You really _do_ like him.” Maria decides.  
“How… how do you come to _that_ conclusion?”  
“Who else knows that you’re not the arrogant pistol you pretend to be?” Natalia wonders. “Us? Rebecca?”  
“ _Well Steve now, too_.” Clint adds.  
“What?” Bucky’s voice cracks again. “What are you…”  
“You act like yourself around him. At least a little.” Maria says. “If you’re insulting yourself?”  
“ _You’re too insecure, Bucky. Way too hard on yourself._ ” Clint adds. “ _We tell you that all the time_.”  
Natalia scoffs. “Yeah, and you cover it up _acting_ all tough and cool.”  
“ _When we all know you’re as really as tough as a teddy bear_.” Clint teases. “ _Steve must see that. Enough that he’s made a rule like that._ ” he shrugs. “ _Sounds as if you like him to me_.”

The band is up now. Starting to play. Straight music, no words. Swing, fast, kicked up and fun. Bucky wants to get up and dance. 

_Why?_ His heart wonders. _Don’t want to listen to your three voices of reason?_  
He ignores that comment.

“Let’s go.” He remarks, grabbing Natalia’s hand and heaving them both to their feet. “We’re dancing now.”  
“Oh we are?”  
“That’s right. I outrank you all now and I say we’re dancing.”  
“Oh!” Maria laughs and then twists her finger just enough into his side that he giggles with the tickle. “Look who’s pulling rank on us already.”  
“Okay, okay! Sorry. Just come dance!”

No other arguments are made as they laugh and head down to the dancefloor. The only reason he doesn’t look for Steve as they go by is to avoid being further teased by his friends. 

~~

Beer warms Steve’s belly. Autumn flavored, special for the season. The taste is still moist on his lips. He might get another, even though six empty glasses litter the table already. Down below, his husband is dancing, has been for three hours straight, pausing only for a few minutes at a time for a quick talk, a drink, a trip to the restroom. A cloud of smoke hovers above the dancers’ head. Cigarette girls carrying their trays and making their sales which cause said smoke. Steve is surprised to see Bucky light up a few times. Bucky has shed his suit jacket and his vest. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone. Sweat gleams off his chest, across his brow. He’s all smiles, laughing, as his body moves fluidly across the dancefloor, taking command of it, owning it and the bodies he moves with. He hasn’t been back once.

Steve catches eyes with his waitress and holds an empty glass up. She knows what he’s been drinking and she nods, hurries away to get him another. He’s not upset, not mad. He’s not. Steve wants Bucky to have his fun. Likes watching him dance, has had to shift a few times in his seat because he’s enjoyed it a little _too_ much. Bucky’s body is long and lean, smooth and tempting, knows which way to move and when. Not like Steve’s. Steve’s is always too much of something. Too small when he was younger, boney, so angular it made people uncomfortable--a monster he thought. Too big now that he’s older. Clumsy big. Can’t always find his footing in time to keep from stumbling over his own two feet, or someone else’s. 

He is feeling something though. Jealousy maybe. Jealous of the people all around Bucky that get to share tonight with him. Right with him. Not from afar. Steve knows he has no right to feel this way. None. He gets to go home with Bucky. Go home with the man who doesn’t really want to go home with him. Not that the sentiment is really fair, tonight especially. Bucky not only insisted that Steve give up squeezing his hands-- _No! Steve, you’re not allowed to do that!_ He said--he had let him hold his metal hand in place of that. His husband had been worried for him, concerned enough that he placed his own insecurities to the side in order to provide him comfort. Steve really thought he was going to burst with joy right there in the motorcar. If there was room, he’d have gotten down on his knees and thanked Bucky for such an honor. As if that wasn’t enough, Bucky told him his life isn’t so bad. A start. It’s at least a start. 

The waitress hands Steve his fresh beer. He thanks her, takes a big gulp. It feels good, more of it rushing down his throat, warming him again, buzzing his insides. Quiets some of the clamor that surrounds him, even if only for a moment. When he lowers it, keeping the glass firmly in his hand, Steve’s eyes immediately find Bucky again. He’s not hard to find. Maybe Steve’s just looking too hard. 

Two hands slap down on Steve’s shoulders, hard enough to jostle him about a bit.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself staring so hard, big guy!”  
Steve chuckles. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
“No idea, huh?” He steps around the couch and cuts off Steve’s view of Bucky. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I stand here, right?”  
“You’re a pisser, Tony, you know that?”  
“I know it!” Tony raises his glass--martini, two olives on their stick still in it--and gives him a saucy grin. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna be here!” He’s shouting a little louder than needed. “Why not?”  
“Maybe to avoid seeing you?” Steve jests.  
“Avoid me? Now who would want to avoid me?”

Steve laughs. Tony, formerly of the House of Stark, has only very recently taken over Howard Stark's business. They work in direct correlation with the Military Bureau. One of Tony’s first decisions was a very unconventional and unpopular move to stop manufacturing weapons for them, and instead work on energy efficiency. The move first took a hit on the Stark Industries, but has since boosted them in even greater status. 

The House Stark is the wealthiest in the country. The House of inventors, greatest of the world, some people call them. Tony’s always going on and on about something, most of the time no one really knows what. 

“I don’t know, Tony, I don’t know.” Steve laughs.

Tony, as always, is dressed a bit over-the-top. Long, double-tailed dress coat, ruffled shirt, bright purple cumberbun, high tophat, and to top it all off, he’s got a polished walking stick--diamond, maybe real, maybe fake, on top--and a pair of yellow-tinted spectacles resting on his nose. 

He twirls his walking stick once before dramatically swirling around, the two tails of his jacket swishing as he does, and plops down next to Steve. Arms stretched as he rests his hands on top of his unnecessary walking stick, he throws a cheesy grin at Steve.

“So, how’s the ball and chain?”  
Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t call him that.”  
“Sorry. But really, how’s married life treating you? You doing okay, big guy?”  
“S’okay. So far. Nothing to report.”  
Tony nudges him in the side. “Nothing? Are you two getting along at least? I mean, I know he gets you going and all. Just by all the drool you got around here…” 

He goes to wipe away the non-existent mess away from Steve’s chin. Hopefully non-existent. Steve swats him away. 

“Alright, calm down.” Steve sighs. “Yes, we’re getting along. For the most part.”  
“For the most part? Come on, big guy, you’re the headship! Gotta lead! Take charge! Just look at my headship!”  
“What about your headship?”

Tony leans his head back on the couch to look behind him at Pepper Potts, his wife and headship. She standing over him, hair pulled up in a neat beehive, silky, evening gown, a completely laid back style, very different from what Tony’s wearing. 

“My headship?” Tony repeats. “Wonderful. Kind. Beautiful. Smart. Everything a guy like me needs.”  
“Mm.” She rolls her eyes, bends forward and kisses him. “Stop brown nosing. Hello, Steve.” She gives him such a happy smile, that Steve knows Tony’s jesting is forgiven. “I didn’t expect too see you here. How are you?”

Steve rises to his feet. Proper greeting for a lady of Society, especially one higher than he, no matter how often Pepper’s asked him not to. 

“Lady Potts, it’s always a pleasure.” He greets as he kisses the top of her hand.  
Pepper laughs. “Steve, how many times do I have to ask that you call me Pepper?”  
“At least once more, as always, Pepper.”

Steve grins as he offers her his spot on the couch, and takes the comfy chair to the left of Tony. 

“I wish we’d known you were here.” Pepper tells him. “Peggy and Gabe were here earlier.”  
Steve’s stomach falls in a longing sort of way. “They were?” It’s not the place they’d normally be at. Not with Sharon to care for. “I take it they left already?”  
“They did. They were only here for a little while.”  
“Steve!” Tony suddenly shouts. “Have you tried the new fondue?”  
“The what?”  
“Fondue! That’s where we saw Peggy and Gabe. Over by the fondue.”  
“What the hell is fondue?” Steve asks.  
“Some cheese and bread thing. Real good. You should try it with your new husband.”  
“Speaking of which,” Pepper shakes her head in Tony’s direction, “How is your new husband? I haven’t seen him.” She cranes her neck down to look over the balcony. “How are things?”  
“They’re… well…” Steve just has to come out and say it. Just get the words out loud to someone. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no idea if I’m screwing up. No idea if he hates me. Sometimes he says he doesn’t, other times he acts like he does. Not so much anymore, but… I just don’t know. I really just don’t know.”  
“You know…” Tony swipes his martini from off the table and chugs the last of it. “Sounds to me like you two really need to sit down and talk. With _you_ leading the conversation. _You_ need to tell him what you expect. _You_ need to listen to what _his_ fears are. And you _both_ need to just lay it all out on the table. You’re the headship, Lord Rogers. Maybe it’s time you act it.”

Both Steve and Pepper give each other a meaningful look. Pepper bobs her head once and chuckles. 

“Now, I know this one sometimes sounds like a chuckling baboon…”  
“Hey… I can _hear_ you, you know.” Tony mumbles.  
Pepper ignores him. “...But, and I do hate to admit it, in this case he’s actually right.”  
Steve groans. “Yes. I know he is. It’s overdue. Think I’ve been avoiding it. The awkwardness I guess.”  
Tony slaps Steve’s knee. “Bandaid, my friend. Rip it off. Get it done.”  
“Oh like you would know.” Pepper sighs. “You got to marry me. We knew each other for years.”  
“Still married up. Drastic change.” Tony does seem rather serious in the moment. “Wasn’t easy. Late night talks. Lots of them. New rules and restrictions. I got used to it. Love my life.” He picks up the stick with his olives, holds it out to Steve. “Here. Your favorite.”

Not quite his favorite, but Steve does enjoy the olives from martinis if not the martinis themselves. With Tony holding them out to him, he pulls them off with his teeth and smiles as he chews. 

“Thanks, Tony.” He says, mouth still full. 

His eyes drift back towards the dance floor. Bucky’s back is to him now. Looks like he’s slowed a bit, though the tempo is still just as upbeat and quick. Someone, Clint from the looks of it, jostles him and Bucky gets back into the groove of things. Steve wonders what’s bothered him. Wonders if he’ll share it later. Maybe if he asks. 

“Well, I hate to cut this short, but I need to get this one home.” Pepper tells Steve.  
Tony leans over to Steve. “I have to get home.”  
“He has a meeting in the morning.”  
“I have a meeting in the morning.”  
“Tony.”  
“Pepper.” He stretches his lips and murmurs just loud enough for Steve to hear, “I’m gonna be in trouble.”

The words have barely escaped his mouth before Pepper is snatching him up by the ear. Tony’s hissing something about abuse and foul treatment and witnesses. 

“I’m so sorry we didn’t see you over here sooner. We’d have joined you.”  
“Pepper, it’s fine. I’m glad I had the pleasure of your company at all.”  
“It’s always a pleasure, Steve. Say goodbye, Tony.”  
“Goodbye, Tony.” She twists his ear. “Ah! Kidding! See ya round, big guy. Have us over for dinner soon!”  
“Ugh, _Tony_!” Pepper sighs. “You have _no_ manners.”

Steve laughs as he watches the two stalk off, bickering the entire way, even as Tony slips an affectionate arm around her waist. He sits back down on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he drinks more of his beer, and seeks out his husband again. 

Bucky’s twirling Natalia under his arm and back into him again. He hands her off to Clint and dances with another fella. This time, when Steve brings his glass back to his lips, Bucky happens to glance up. They lock eyes. He’s smiling, but he slowly stops dancing. The only thing unmoving on the dancefloor. Hand raises. Waves. Steve waves back, wiggling fingers. Smiling, too. Bucky’s breathing heavy, hands on hips, and glances around before looking back at Steve. Instead of going back to dancing, he goes towards the stairs, starts up them. Steve watches the whole time. 

He comes back over to their table for the first time all night and drops down on the couch next to him, slouched down enough that most of his legs are dangling off the furniture. It makes him to look almost straight up at Steve. There’s a sloppy grin on his face. Hair moist and skin glistening, Bucky’s a mess, but a good kind. The kind Steve wants to both be a mess with and clean up at the same time. 

“Hi!” He shouts like Tony was. Music still pulsing in his ears like he’s down below probably.  
“Hi!” Steve replies as though he’s down there with him. “Having fun?”  
“I was.”  
“Oh.” Steve knits his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”  
“What? You didn’t! I meant I didn’t mean to ignore you! I’m sorry!”  
Steve shakes his head. “Don’t be. I told you to have a good time. You wouldn’t have with me down there. Trust me.”  
“Aw, how do you know?” Bucky pats his leg. “You could have come and danced, too!”  
“No. No… I…” Steve feels words just falling out of his mouth. They’re not making much sense. “I don’t think… no.”

Bucky shifts his head a bit and makes an even wider grin after he takes a look at the table.

“Are you drunk?”  
“Drunk?” Steve rattles his head with. “You caught me. Not drunk. Not sober either. Neither are you.”  
“True. Not wedding drunk though.” Bucky sucks in a deep breath and gives him those big eyes of his. “Dance with me, husband?”

Steve needs to hold in a whimper, even more so when Bucky moves, keeping those weepy, begging eyes on him, and rests his head in his lap. It gets even worse he pushes his bottom lip out. 

“You do remember our first dance don’t you?” Steve comments, voice not nearly as strong as he knows it can be. Failing him at the moment.  
“No. My feet do though.” He picks one up and looks at it. “Right?”

Steve looks down at Bucky’s foot as though expecting an actual answer.

“And you still want me to dance?”  
“Please?”  
“You know, that look is hardly fair.”

Bucky laughs and rolls himself off the couch, taking each of Steve’s hand in both of his. He tugs once but doesn’t fully try to pull him up. The look on his face becomes even more endearing. 

“You’re doing that on purpose.” Steve accuses.  
“Of course I am.” Bucky admits, cheesy grin Steve’s seen in interviews on his lips. “It usually works. Please, Steve? Dance with me?”  
“If you end up with a broken foot, it’s your fault.”  
“Duly noted.”

Steve’s made his husband excited. He can tell by the way his eyes have lit up and the lightness in his steps as he leads Steve down below. Still, Steve is wary as they get to the dancefloor. There are too many people. It’s hot, bodies pressed together and moving this way and that. Smoke’s right above their heads. Steve doesn’t know what to do. But Bucky hasn’t let go of his hand, doesn’t look like he intends to either, since he turns around and simply rearranges their fingers so they’re more comfortable that way. 

“Just follow my lead!” He shouts over the music and chatter. 

Bucky guides him forward, slow, much slower than anyone else there. Steve still manages to almost trip over his feet. A hand touches his chest, keeps him balanced. Bucky smiles at him. He’s not put off, and simply moves him in a different direction. Around them, Steve spots Bucky’s friends. Clint and Natalia are moving about together and Maria is dancing with Jim, House Morita. Spotting him, Bucky’s friends smile and wave. He tries to wave back, but he’s concentrating much too hard on not falling as Bucky leads him. 

After several minutes of the same thing--of Bucky trying to move him in the right direction and Steve crashing into him, colliding foreheads, stomping feet--Bucky bursts out laughing. Steve smothers his face.

“I told you!” He states.  
“You warned me! I know!” Bucky agrees with a giggle. “Okay! Hold on! Stay with Maria!”

He tugs Maria over to him and tells her to wait there for a second. He then bounds away, rushing off the dancefloor and hopping up onto the stage. Steve glances at Maria. She shakes her head with a shrug.

“Don’t even try to guess!” She stands on her toes, trying to reach his ear. Steve leans down to make it easier. “He likes you, you know! Don’t let him fool you! He’s just going through a hard time.”  
Natalia suddenly appears in front of him. “Whatever she just said? If it’s about Bucky? Probably true.”

Steve smiles. The beer is still running through him, still warming his body in pleasant ways, and this just adds wonderfully to it. 

“Thank you.” He says to them. “Really. I think I needed to hear that.” 

He looks back to where Bucky is. He’s not supposed to be up there. Being out, this environment, a bit of liquor coursing through his veins, it gives him courage. Bucky says something to the conductor, who then cuts the song short and has the band start a new one. Soft, slow. People begin to partner up, and Bucky hurries back over to Steve.

“You lead!” He requests when he gets back, even though he takes hold of his hands and gets into a stance before Steve can agree. “Is this better? Easier?”  
“Yes. Not that great. Two left feet and all.” Steve is looking down trying to get the footing right and avoid stepping all over his husband again. “Thank you, Bucky.”

Bucky ducks his head down as they sway slightly so that he can see him with Steve’s chin lowered like that. There’s a smile on his face.

“You’re supposed to look up, you know.”  
Steve snickers. “I know. I don’t want… ugh. Okay.” He lifts his head, slows the pace even more because of it. “Are you glad we came?”  
“Yes. Even more now.”

Steve can feel his stomach bunch up in happy knots. The place doesn’t feel as crowded anymore, not when Bucky says things like that to him, things that make him feel like he matters to him. He can do this every weekend if Bucky keeps looking at him like that. 

“I didn’t thank you properly. Earlier.” Steve says. “For what you did.”  
“You mean when we got here? Don’t worry about it.”  
“No, Bucky. I know you feel… insecure? About your arm. Like, maybe you think it’s the only thing people see. It’s not, by the way. It’s your eyes. Everyone I’ve ever talked to about you says that. Your eyes stand out the most.” Steve takes his hand off Bucky’s hip and gently moves some hair away from his face, the product in it losing buoyancy with all the sweat. “It means a lot to me. What you did or, let me do, holding your hand like that. So thank you.”

Bucky hides a smile, tucking lips under teeth and chin into his chest. He might want to say something in response to Steve’s praise. In fact, Steve’s sure of it. He won’t though. He’s still too bashful. Loves it though. Over the past few weeks, Steve’s beginning to learn that Bucky’s a sucker for praise.

“Steve, I…” Confidence slipping, shyness rising. He groans playfully. “I don’t know what to say.”  
Steve chuckles. “You can try you’re welcome.”  
“Ah. Very conventional. You’re welcome, husband.”

Steve wants to ask Bucky for a kiss. Even goes to. Only something catches his eye. Over by the bar. Right at the corner. A young lady, shadowed by an imposing figure. She looks uncomfortable, even from this far away Steve can tell that. 

“Steve?”

Bucky’s voice makes its way up to Steve’s ears. He can hear him. Can’t answer though. He’s too focused on the lady at the bar. She’s trying to make the man she’s with go away. He won’t, keeps creeping closer. From within his arms, he can feel Bucky’s body shift, turning to see whatever Steve’s seeing. 

“Steve, don’t…”

No. It’s too late. Steve is already making his way over. There’s a light tug on the back of his shirt. Presumably Bucky trying to keep him there. Doesn’t work, and Steve pushes his way through the crowd, gets in between the two right as the man would have said something else to her. The man jerks back. The woman looks startled. Relieved, too. 

“Pardon me,” Steve says by way of greeting. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but are you okay?” 

Her eyes scan his face, flick to the man behind him, then land on Steve again. 

“I… no, Lord Rogers. I’d like very much to go home.”  
“Okay. That’s fine. You don’t need…”  
“Uh, _excuse_ me.” The man behind him growls. “I believe you’re _interrupting_ me and my lady friend here.”

There’s a hand on Steve’s shoulder, spinning him around. He’s about to retort, to tell this person that the lady here wants nothing to do with him, when he gets a look at him. Seeing who it is, he’s none too surprised by the hostility. The hand comes off his shoulder and both of them straighten up. 

“Ah. Good evening, Lord Rumlow.”  
“Same to you, Lord Rogers.” He greets back, canny sneer pulling up on his face. “Not your normal crowd, is it?”  
“Not usually.” Steve agrees. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I was just about to escort this young lady out.”

Steve attempts to turn again, only to be stopped when Brock’s large hand slaps down on his shoulder again.

“Whoa there, Steve.” He gives a laugh, a fake one. Lighthearted, but a warning. “I think you misunderstood what’s happening here. You see, _I’m_ going to escort her tonight. It’s what she wants.”  
“No, Brock. I don’t think she does.” Steve leans back to the young lady in question. “What’s your name?”  
“Um… Gwen, Gwen Stacey.”  
“Miss Stacey,” He says, “You’d like to leave, is that right? Not with Lord Rumlow?”  
“I…” She swallows and looks away. “No. I’d rather not. I was going to take the train with my friends Peter and Mary Jane.”  
“Go ahead. Go find your friends. I’ll take care of this.”  
“Thank you, Lord Rogers.” She says quickly and hurries away before anything else can happen. 

Steve makes sure she disappears into the crowd before he turns back around. When he does, Brock’s cold, hard eyes glare into him. 

“Oh, you son of a bitch.” Brock hisses when he turns back around. “How dare…”  
“How dare I?” Steve challenges. “How dare I what? Make sure you treat someone who didn’t want anything to do with you with dignity? With respect? Yes, how dare I indeed, Brock.”  
“Fuck off, Rogers. You’re a real card, you know that? Thinking you’re so much better than everyone.”  
“I don’t think I’m better than anyone. Don’t be an asshole, Brock.”

Steve is about to leave. Ready to just walk away. He’s done all he’d come over to do. No need to stay. He’s in the middle of turning, almost sideways towards Brock, when he realizes that Brock is about to shove him. Only he doesn’t get to. Someone steps between them, slams two hands into Brock’s chest and just barely keeps the assault from happening. 

“You _are_ being kind of an asshole.”

That’s Bucky, voice high and taunting. Steve stays close to him, just behind him. He puts his hands on his shoulders.

“Well, hello there, doll. Look at you, coming in to defend your husband.” 

Brock reaches to place his hand under Bucky’s chin, but Bucky swats his  
hand away.

“Come on, Bucky.” Steve murmurs. “Let’s go.”  
“Oh what’s wrong?” Brock calls after them as Steve turns them both. “Not man enough to finish what you started?”  
“Man enough to walk away.”  
“Fuck that.” Brock snarls. “Be a fucking man.”

That hand is back on Steve’s shoulder, this time effectively spinning him around. A fist comes flying at his face. The hit is impossibly hard, lights behind his eyes. 

“Brock!” he hears Bucky cry out. “Stop it!”  
“Shut your trap, baby doll, or you’re next.”

Steve’s on the floor, elbows lifting himself up. He shakes the hit off, realizes that Brock is coming back at him. His arm goes up, blocks the incoming fist, then throws his own punch, landing it hard, right into Brock’s jaw. Brock flies backwards, clearly not expecting the blow. Lands on his backside. 

“Brock, stay away from him!” Bucky’s yelling. “Leave him alone!”

Instead of going after Steve again, Brock goes for Bucky. Brock gets to his feet, takes his swing. Bucky dodges like Steve had. Punches back with his left arm. Hits effectively. Eyes go wide. 

“Shit.” He mutters. “Shit. Shit, shit. I’m sorry. Fuck, Brock. I’m--”

Before he says another word, Brock’s fist cuts him off. Right in the mouth. Steve can only catch him as he falls back into his arms. People have gathered around them. Bucky’s friends are there. Natalia right next to them, so Steve dives right for Brock, knowing Bucky is safe, and not caring about anything else but stopping the man who’s struck his husband.

He hits Brock. Once. Twice. Three times, before he’s being literally pulled off of him, dragged out of the place. 

“Are you okay?” Maria is asking him. “Steve?”

Steve can’t answer her. They’re outside. He’s not sure where. Walking down a city block. Away from the nightclub, around the corner. Cobblestone streets that are empty. Horses trotting by--clip, clop, clip clop. Trains passing overhead. Sounds of the night. 

“Where is Bucky?” He asks.  
“I’m right here.”

He’s over by Natalia and Clint, on the curb. She’s running something over his lips. A handkerchief it looks like. White, turning red. Blood. 

“Oh my God. You’re hurt.” Steve rushes over. “You’re hurt, Bucky.”  
“I’m fine.”

Bucky answers hard and cold, like the air outside. Icy and unexpected. He won’t look at Steve either. 

“Are you angry with me?”  
“No.”  
“James.” Natalia whispers. “Cool off.”  
“Talia…” Bucky wraps long fingers around the hand tending to the wound on his lips. “Okay.” His eyes finally find Steve. “Not here. O-okay?”  
“Yeah, okay.” Steve looks at Bucky’s friends. “Is everyone okay? My apologies for all that happened in there. I never intended for all that chaos.”

Clint shakes his head and gives him a big smile. He starts to sign something and Natalia translates for Steve. 

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. We all know Brock Rumlow is an asshole. He’s had that coming for years.” When Clint stops signing, Natalia picks up. “He’s right. I think we’re all a little jealous that you’re the one who got to do it.”  
“Yeah, really,” Maria adds. “What I wouldn’t give to take a swing at that mug.”  
“We should go.” Bucky again, his tone back to being unfriendly. “Brock’s probably gone by now.”  
“He’s right.” Maria agrees. “You two should get out of here.”  
“Alright. You’ll… be okay?”  
Clint nods. “ _We’ll be fine_.”

Steve understands that and after a farewell, he steps back for a moment, giving Bucky his chance to say goodbye to his friends. They exchange a few words, some hugs, friendly cheek-to-cheek kisses. Bucky comes over to join him. 

There’s a great deal of distance between them, more distance than there’s been between them since they’ve been married as they make their way back to HYDRA. Stiles is waiting with the motorcar running, their coats and hats--even those articles of clothing that Bucky shed while dancing--waiting for them in the back seat. They seem the only things content to be with Steve right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! For anyone in an autumn climate, I hope you're staying warm! It snowed here over the weekend before the Thanksgiving Day parade ((got to go into the city to watch them blow up the balloons!)) So, as always, I hope you enjoyed! And... like last week, this is part of a two chapter update. Two chapters again since there was so much more that was supposed to happen in this, but it just got _way_ too long. Go on! Click away on that 'next chapter' button! There's more waiting for you! But first...
> 
> Let's see Bucky all smiles getting to the club
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> Ignoring the crazy barn set for Picnic, here we have Bucky dancing with a little girl cause he'll dance with anyone
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> And of course, we need to finally see one of Bucky's illegal looks
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> Here we have Steve waiting for Bucky in the downstair's front parlor
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> Steve by himself watching Bucky
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> I dunno where the crazy outfit came in, but this would be Steve arguing with Brock
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> And of course Tony and Pepper in an off screen moment
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> Again, hope you enjoyed! Leave some love if you'd like or come find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Now go on! The next chapter is waiting!


	11. Oh dear Heaven, it's Chapter Eleven

The ride back to Steve’s is silent. It’s a long, drawn out ride and by the time they finally get back on the streets that lead to the brownstone, it feels like days and nights have gone by in this maddening silence. Bucky’s insides are ablaze, simmering and readying to explode. His knuckles hurt. _Lie_. They don’t feel anything. But he hit Brock with them. Someone higher in status. It could mean a world of trouble. 

_No it won’t, and you know it_. His fist tells him.  
 _I know._

Brock isn’t going to make a big deal of this, not legally, not publicly. His ego will get in the way. Ego so big it will build a wall high enough that Brock won’t be bothered to climb over it. But Steve doesn’t know this. Steve can’t know this. And he still hit him, someone higher in rank--an Executive even. Not in position yet. Brock Rumlow still hasn’t taken his seat in Parliament and has no real power, just works as a courier between all four Bureaus and the Court. Doesn’t mean he can’t abuse his privilege, cause problems. And Steve still hit him. 

_So did you_. His left hand reminds him.  
 _Different. I regretted it. He didn’t._  
 _Maybe he has different motivation._

“I’m going to bed.” Bucky announces as soon as they’re in the door.

Steve’s three story place feels tiny tonight. Closed in on itself, the walls wrapping around Bucky and squeezing painfully. 

“Don’t you want to…”  
“No. I just…”  
“No.” Steve denies him, cutting him off and making the rest of the words form a lump in his throat. “No, I want to know why you’re cross with me.”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Yes, of course it does.” Steve takes his jacket off. Discards it to the side of the couch in the front parlor. “What’s going on, Bucky?”

Cool down. That’s what Talia told him to do. Bucky wants to. He really does. But he can feel himself boiling over, ready to pop. Everything is just too much. Father dead, lustful sex to someone who treated him poorly, marriage arranged, married up, life pulled out from under his feet. A parlor trick gone horribly wrong. 

“You just _hit_ someone higher ranking and you want to know what’s _wrong_ , Steve?! Are you _crazy_?! Do you know what a man like Brock Rumlow can _do_ to you?!” 

It all comes out in a rush, an explosion of words that pour out of his mouth in an angry yell. 

“What was I supposed to do?” Steve’s angry, too, not as, but close. “He _hit_ you!”  
“I’m a big boy, Steve. I can take care of myself! I don’t need you picking fights with Brock Rumlow and ruining this for me!”  
“Picking?!” His husband’s eyes go wide. Of all the things he’s ever said it seems that one hits him hardest. “I _picked_ a fight tonight? Is _that_ what you saw when I went over to make sure the young lady _he_ was bothering was okay? Was it _me_ picking a fight when _I_ tried to walk away? _I_ picked this fight when _he_ threw the first punch? Fuck, Bucky, really? Of all people, I never expected _you_ to do this to me, too.”  
“Too?”  
“All my life, _every_ time I tried to help someone, didn’t matter what I did or rather, what the _other_ person did, someone _always_ tried to blame _me_. It was _always_ my fault somehow. Victor knocked down Richard? I tried to help Richard out? I got in trouble. I get beat up after telling a man at the theatre to be quiet? People tell me it’s _my_ fault.”

Bucky has no idea what he’s talking about, but Steve feels quite strongly about this. 

“Steve, I have _no_ idea what you’re going on about.”  
“I’m not going to change, Bucky. I’m going to continue doing what I think is the right thing to do, and I don’t care if that means punching someone in Court. If you’re not okay with that, then I suggest we divorce right now. You can keep my dowry, don’t worry. I’ll give you your divorce if that’s what you really want. Or perhaps you can just tell me what’s really bothering you.”

That word, divorce, it does mean things to Bucky. Hurts. Outside, inside, all over. Only this time, Bucky’s not sure if it’s only because of money. And then Alexander's words hit him all over again, making the pain all the more worse. No one is this good. No one. Everyone wants something from someone. Brock hit him tonight, Steve hit Brock. It’s all a matter of figuring out who’s getting what from who. Then maybe Bucky can just figure out where he fits in. 

“What do you want from me?” He mutters.   
“What?” Steve asks. “What are you…”  
“What do you want from me?!” Bucky shouts. “What are you getting out of this?! Just tell me so I know who to be! Are you trying to get to Court? A better public appearance? What? I know you want something! Everyone wants something! Just tell me!”  
“Whoa…” Steve holds his palms out, a gentle surrender, no more yelling from him. “Bucky… I don’t… want anything _from_ you. I want to be happy. I want _us_ to be happy. Maybe for me to make you happy. I’m confused? I just want to take care of you.”

_No need to rush off, doll. Come on. Stay awhile. I’ll take care of you._

He fell for it, too. Hook. Line. Sinker. Bucky was so desperate for companionship, so wanted someone to care for him, he didn’t care who it was. He should have cared. Then maybe he’d be spared all this regret, this shame. Brock hadn’t taken care of him. Not even a little. He won’t fall for it again.

Bucky shakes his head back and forth. Quick and rapid. He hadn’t meant to say this, to accuse Steve, even if the accusations have been swimming around his mind for a good two weeks now. A sponge inside of him, slowly soaking it all in, getting bigger and bigger. A ticking timebomb. Tick… tick… tick…

“No!” He hollers. “ _Everyone_ wants something!” The public wants smiles and answers. The Military wants their debt paid. Brock wants to use Bucky’s body until it’s aching all over. Alexander wants information. Bucky wants money for his family. “What’s in all this for you?! Just tell me! Please! Steve!” He’s trembling all over. Hot tears dampen his eyelashes. “I can’t take this! I _need_ to just know!”  
“Bucky!” Steve gives a shout. Palms still out though, white flag to show he’s only yelled to get Bucky’s attention. “You have it all wrong.” 

Steve’s face has smoothed, eyes melted like soft butter. Oh no. His husband is going to do that thing. Somehow say all the right words. And Bucky can already feel the anger draining as Steve reaches gentle hands towards him. Hesitates to seek permission first. He already has it, must see it in Bucky’s eyes, since fingertips lightly graze the stubble on his face.

“I don’t want anything from you, I swear. I’m not trying to use you or this marriage to get anything.”  
Bucky’s calming, yes, but still has enough anger to say, “Then _why_? Why did you pick me? If not to _gain_ something? You don’t know me. I don’t know you. If your family didn’t pick for some reason then _you_ must have.”  
“Yeah, yeah okay. You’re right. I _did_ have a reason.”

Bucky gives him a sneer. Of course there was. He’s not sure if he feels better or worse. His arms cross over his chest.

_Give him a chance._ They say.  
He ignores them. 

“And…?” He questions. “What was that?”  
“You didn’t look at me like I was a monster.” Steve whispers.

He drops his arms as they whisper told-you-so taunts. 

“What?”  
“At the New Years Gala. You didn’t…” Steve sighs like he’s nervous, even though Bucky now feels only a few inches tall. “People used to stare at me like I sickened them.” His voice is quiet, hiding from the ghosts of his past. “I could see the questions in their eyes. Why didn’t my parents just cast me aside, leave me in an orphanage? Even just abandon me on the streets? And that was just by the way I looked. They had no idea how sick I was. Not you though.” Steve’s gaze melts into Bucky. Bucky hardly feels he deserves it, that sunshine, or the warm hand that cups around his cheek. “You didn’t see any of that. You just saw me.”

_Tell him what happened. The whole story._

Rueful fingers tug at the collar of his shirt. Steve should know this. Know what happened before and after.

“I didn’t see it happening. Not at first.” Bucky admits. “Talia did. She went to go over immediately. Probably would’ve knocked that kid around the room.” He gets out one humorless laugh. “I kept her back. Just watched for a minute. You wouldn’t stop. Just… kept getting back up, no matter how hard you got knocked down. I was afraid you were gonna break. It was… fascinating, er, maybe that’s not the right word. Incredible? That’s not right either. Steve, I’d never seen anyone so strong in my life. I knew I needed to step in cause, physically, you couldn’t keep it up. Eventually, you were gonna get hurt. But… I told Talia afterwards, I said… that’s what I want to be like when I grow up. I want to be like him.” 

He stops there, embarrassed. Steve though, his eye are swimming with tears. Bucky reaches up to wipe the one that tries to escape away. 

“You said that?” Steve whispers. “Really?”  
“Yes.” He says just as quietly, as though someone is going overhear them. “I’d never seen anything like that, Steve. Never have since. Well, except maybe tonight. Why did you _do_ that?”  
“He _hit_ you, Bucky.” 

Steve gently brushes his thumb across Bucky’s swollen lip. He winces from the contact. It’s tender, pulsing slightly, so his husband pulls his hand away. Before he can fully take it back though, Bucky takes hold of it, brings the thumb that had so carefully touched him a moment ago up to his lips again and kisses it. 

“That really bothered you?” He asks, so quiet a loud wind can easily drown him out.   
“That he hit you?” Steve sighs. “Of course it did. Does. Are you okay, Bucky?”  
“Yes. I think I hit him harder, if that makes you feel any better.”  
“A little. Do you still think I want something from you? Does that frighten you?”  
“I don’t know what I think.”

That’s true. The most truthful thing he can get out at the moment. Bucky’s drowning in so much, lost in a sea of emotion and right now the only buoy keeping him afloat is Steve. Sturdy and on dry land, his husband waiting to pull him out of the deep and murky waters. 

“I… you don’t trust me. I understand. You don’t have any reason to yet.” Steve pauses, studies his face for a moment. “You were hurt, weren’t you?” He nods to himself, like Bucky’s already answered. “I can see that now. Brock Rumlow? Was he the one? Did he hurt you?”  
His stomach falls, floor going with it. “How… Steve…”  
“He called you doll. A few times. No one just says that. What happened? If… you wanna tell me. Don’t if you… don’t want to. You don’t have to.”

It’d be nice to tell someone something. He doesn’t need to tell him everything, like how long it went on for. No one knows any of it. Not even Talia. She’s going to kill him when she finds out. Eventually she will. She always does. There’ll hell to pay. 

“He told me he’d take care of me.” Bucky admits, voice lost, rising out of a deep, dark forest. “I… shouldn’t have believed him. Wanted to. Shouldn’t have though.”

Steve’s face is hard, eyes cold--thunder and lighting. He’s not here. Not with Bucky. Somewhere else entirely. 

“Steve? Husband?” A shudder runs through his body. He doesn’t want Steve to be away. He needs him here. “Please talk to me.”  
He takes in a deep breath through flared nostrils. “He didn’t… he never…”  
“Oh.” Bucky understands. “No. Never. I always…” Shame veils over him. But his husband’s asked and he’ll dignify him with an answer. “I was willing. Always. He never took advantage of me.”  
“No?” Steve sounds angry. Not at him, not at Bucky. “When did this happen?” When Bucky doesn’t respond, can’t get the words out, Steve ventures a guess. “Right after your father’s death, right?”

Once again, the words just won’t come out. Steve did warn Bucky that he’s good at reading people. Shouldn’t be surprising that his husband already knows the answer.

Steve nods, sighs, then shakes his head. Acceptance, disappointment, anger, all rolled in one. 

“Sounds like Brock Rumlow.” He mumbles. “He took advantage of you, Bucky. When you were vulnerable, in mourning.” Steve takes a step forward, hand raised. “May I?” He’s asking to touch. Warm and comforting, and Bucky suddenly wants nothing more. He nods, and Steve’s strong hand is at the side of his face, making his knees weak. Pulse quickening. “And here I’ve been trying to assure you that I’ll take care of you when the last person you wanted to trust hurt you. No wonder you’ve been reluctant…”  
“No!” Bucky exclaims and throws his arms around Steve’s body. “Oh, husband, don’t think that. Please! You’re nothing like Brock. Nothing at all!” 

He has his cheek rubbed up against Steve’s chest, can hear the beat of his heart. Bump, bump. Bump, bump. Steve is warm, solid, and has gone rigid in Bucky’s arms, as though Bucky’s hug completely shocked him. Bucky glances up, chin resting where his cheek was.

Steve looks down at him, eyes wide and full of surprise. Favorite color peering as he moves closer and presses their brows together. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” He whispers before wrapping his own arms around him. “Thank you. I…” Steve closes his eyes, unintentionally shuts the sunlight off on Bucky. “I hope you can learn to trust me, Bucky. Someday. I don’t know when. Just…”   
“Steve?” Bucky reaches for his face, fingertips touching his cheek. His husband opens his eyes. Sunshine back on. “You… you really don’t want anything from me. Do you?”

Bucky sees that now. It’s taken too long for him to have seen it, a month too long, but it’s there. Clear as day. In Steve’s smiles, in his eyes, in his touch. It’s always been there, right out in open for Bucky to see. He’s just had to look. 

“Well,” Steve’s lips pull into a crooked grin. Playful, at ease again. Private Steve. “That’s not entirely true.”  
“How do you mean?”  
“Come on.”

His husband takes him through the dining room and kitchen, all the way to the drawing room. Steve turns up the lights. The room, not used all that often, greets them with a breath of fresh air. Bucky tries to ignore the piano, big, glorious, trying to call to him. 

_Play for him._ His fingers suggest. _He’ll like it._  
 _No. I… you think he’ll like?_

“Okay.” Steve says, thick fingers fumbling about as they undo the bowtie around his neck. “I’m about to take full advantage of you as your headship.”

A breath catches in Bucky’s throat. He looks up at Steve. But his husband is still open and playful. Serious in what he’s saying, but… Bucky just needs to see that sunlight in him, knows he’s not going to hurt him. Trust. He can do that. He can. Breathe. 

“Okay?”  
Steve smiles. “We’re going to talk now. Long overdue conversation. Expectations. Fears. What you need to learn, what you don’t want to learn, but need to anyway. And… I’m going to wrap you in my arms the whole time because that’s where _I_ want you to be. Got it?”

Everything about Steve is different, even if everything about him is the same. Same warmth, same kindness, same sunlight. But there’s also something authoritative about him now. It’s not hard, or cold, just there, the ability to control and lead, and something in Bucky feels right. The world feels unsteady around him. Loose, wobbly. And Steve is here to keep him balanced. On two feet, never letting him fall, or rather, there to help him up if he does. 

“Say okay?” Steve asks.   
Bucky nods, whispers, “Okay.”  
“Good.” There’s a smile in Steve’s voice, but Bucky is far too wrapped up in this sensation to really see it. 

They’re on the sofa now, he can’t really remember going to it, but it welcomes them, happily, and, as stated, Steve has him in his arms. Steve’s splayed across the furniture, suit jacket tossed behind it, bow tie hanging loose around his neck, one leg haphazardly falling off the edge; not the way Society would expect a gentleman to be positioned, even with no guests. He has Bucky laying down on him. Head pressed up against Steve’s chest, Bucky can feel his husband breathing. In and out, rhythmic, right and normal. 

“Hey?” Steve whispers, and Bucky thinks he may have been trying to get his attention. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shakes him once, gentle but firm. “You with me?”

Steve’s chin is just above his head so instead of answering, Bucky leans his mouth up and kisses it. 

That makes such a delighted grin pull up on Steve’s mouth, Bucky’s sure his heart is going to burst. Spring and summer. That’s what Steve is. Bucky himself is winter. Has been for a long time. Thawing now. Here in Steve’s arms.

“Expectations?” Bucky murmurs. “Is that what we start with?”  
“Hm. Yes. I should have done this a while ago. My fault.”  
“No, it’s mine. I’ve been a pain so of course… wait…” Bucky trails off, lifts his eyes to look at his husband. “That doesn’t… you can’t count that as talking bad about myself.”  
Steve chuckles. “I wasn’t going to. But I do mean it about that rule. I don’t want you talking bad about yourself. I _will_ enforce it.”

His voice is heavy again, commanding. Those words fall upon Bucky’s body and do strange things to it.

_You like it_. His gut points out.  
 _I… think I… might._

“I understand.” Bucky says. And he does. What good is a headship who doesn’t follow through? Not good at all. “Expectations? Yours, right?”  
“Right. Um. I need you to just listen for a minute. Or a few anyway. And then ask questions. Any you have, okay?”   
Bucky puts his head down and nods against Steve’s body. “Okay.”

Steve runs his hand over the back of Bucky’s neck as he starts. It feels nice, keeps him safe from those thoughts that creep up in the middle of the night. Whispered shadows that might try to bring him away from this warm place.

Aside from whose fault this lies with, this is a conversation that should have taken place weeks ago. Awkwardness and bitterness have kept it from occurring. Perhaps the blame should be held by both headship and spouse in this case. A lightbulb flickers once in the fixture above them. Agreeing, Bucky thinks. 

“Okay, I’m not one for all that much ceremony. I don’t need you to be standing up every time I enter or leave a room or waiting to start eating when I start eating. None of that, speaking only when spoken to nonsense. I want to have conversations with you. So, throw all that traditional crap to the wind. Got it?” Bucky holds in a snicker. Liberal house indeed. Not that he minds at all. “I do want to know where you are or where you plan on being, and I’ll do my best to extend you the same courtesy.” Not necessary, just Steve being kind, “And I do want you to respect me, but…” He hesitates. Bucky lifts his chin to look at him and Steve lets his eyes lower so that they make contact. His thumb brushes Bucky’s jawline and Steve finds his voice again. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be yourself. With me so far?”

Bucky grins. He may not have chosen this, but he’s here now. With summer and spring. He can do this. He has to.

“So far so good.”  
“Good.” Steve pokes his nose. Fun. Bucky realizes that despite this serious conversation, deep and heavy, they’re having fun. Together. “You don’t need to call me Lord Rogers. I expect you to call me Steve… or…” Again he trails off. Bucky’s not sure what else he could want to be addressed by. Sir isn’t something that he thinks Steve would want to use. Then again, given his position, maybe it’s something he needs when they’re out. “I… kinda like when you call me husband.”  
Bucky buries his smile into Steve’s side. “Mmm. Noted.”  
“I’m not going to be barking orders at you. Never. That’s not going to happen.”  
“You’re not a bully.”  
He chuckles, arm around Bucky tightening into a lazy, but affection hug. “Right. But… your vows, they do include obedience.” A cold wave hits Bucky unexpectedly. Freezing, the chill making it’s way to his very core. “Oh. Okay.” Steve repositions them. Scoots up a bit. “What was that?”  
“What?”  
“Something happened there. What went through your mind?”

Bucky nibbles on his lower lip. Underneath him, Steve’s chest still rises and falls, still assures him that everything is okay. Safe. He’s not sure what happened. Nothing really went through his mind, nothing coherent. Images. Fears. Not thoughts. 

“You said listen.” He answers. “That I’ll go when you’re done.”  
“Right.” Steve agrees. “But now I’m asking you a question. I expect you to answer my questions when I ask them.”  
Bucky nods. “Okay. I don’t know, husband. I just… that word, I think. Yes, that’s it. The word, it makes me… strange.”  
“Does it frighten you?” Steve asks. “The thought of obeying me?”

He takes a moment to think that over and Steve gives him that, allows the time so long as he knows an answer is coming. 

_It’s okay._ His heart comforts. _He’s not going to be angry with you._

Bucky’s almost positive it’s right. He shifts a bit on the sofa. The cushions beneath him offer help, provide him with just enough comfort so that he can move onto his side comfortably, but remain against Steve. 

“Yes.” He tells him. “What if… if you…” Bucky’s voice teeters between whispering and shaking, “want me to do something I can’t or don’t want to or is just…” He covers his face with his hands and sighs. Brain malfunctioning, again. “Steve…”  
“Hey, listen.” Steve’s fingers gently remove the hands covering his face. He puts his hand under his chin, guides him so that he’s looking at his husband’s face. “I want obedience, yes, but I want _you_ to be you. I don’t want you doing anything you don’t _really_ want to do. All you need ever do is simply tell me and we’ll talk about it. Like I said, I’m not going to be barking orders at you.”   
“What about…” He twists his mouth about. Is still allowed to ask questions? Steve’s face is patient, waiting for him to go on. “In public?”  
Seems his husband may not have considered that. “Hm. A little trickier. Um. But if you’re ever uncomfortable with something I ask you to do in public, it’s still okay to tell me. Just make sure it’s between us.” Steve combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “If it’s not, and it’s seen as disrespectful, I’ll… I mean, I’ll have to reprimand you. Otherwise…”   
“I know.” Bucky whispers. “It won’t look good.”  
“Right.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. The room takes the time to murmur encouragement, happy these two have come in to share this conversation with it. Doesn’t want them to end it just because it’s gotten a little awkward. Bucky feels a little dizzy. Not bad dizzy. In an abstract sort of way. The world isn’t quite spinning around him. More like, the world has _stopped_ spinning around him. Left Bucky with just Steve, in this moment. What happens when the world starts up again?

“So…” Steve clears his throat, calling the room and everything in it, including Bucky, back to his attention. “So. Um. That’s some protocol that I don’t care about. Some that I do. Respect. Obedience. You answering questions when I ask. Questions? For me?”  
“You don’t want anything from me?”

He knows the answer. Bucky really is sure of it. But he needs to hear Steve say it again. An anchor. Keeps Bucky safe from thoughts that tell him otherwise.

He’s kept his head down on Steve’s chest for this question. His husband’s hand makes its way to his head, pets gently. Soft and assuring. A comforting presence Bucky’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of now.

“No.” Steve murmurs, voice thick and solid. Truthful, moreso now than ever. “Nothing that I can possibly gain anything from.”  
“Can I ask you that again sometimes?”  
“You can ask me that whenever you need to, Bucky.” He tells him, warm breath right up against his head. Steve’s pressed his lips against his hair, but hasn’t kissed. “May I?” Bucky whispers, “Yes.” After Steve gives his kiss he goes on to say, “Ask me how often it’s necessary. Even if it’s forever. Okay?”  
“Okay. Thank you, husband.”  
“You’re welcome. Go on. I know there’s more.”

There’s more. There’s lots more. Bucky’s attempting to organize some of the thoughts in his mind, little scraps of them piling together in neat piles, other scattering about while long, desperate fingers try to grab hold of them. 

“I’m still scared.” Bucky says, breathless. Voice in the wind, tiny and just heard only by ears listening.   
“Of obeying me?”  
“No. Or, well that. But…” The glands in Bucky’s feel tight. They hurt, make it hard to breathe.   
“It’s okay. Tell me.”  
Breath comes out again. “You’ve been so kind to me. I didn’t expect it. But what if that… changes?”  
“Oh. Sure, that makes sense.” Steve holds him closer. “Can I ask… what did you expect from me, Bucky? No wait. First, I can only say that, I have no intention on changing. How I am now? I… it’s the way I’ve always been. At least, I think so. Now go ahead. You can answer.”  
“What I expected?” Steve is caressing the back of his neck again, but Bucky can feel him nod. “I don’t… well, my mother… or, um, Lady Barnes…”  
“Your mother.” Steve corrects.

Bucky’s heart does something strange. A few skipped beats. Picks up in tempo. Pumping hot blood through him, singing a pleasant tune as it does. 

“I…” He doesn’t question his husband’s choice to let him consider his mother still his mother. Not right now. “Um, well, she married up. My parents, they grew fond of one another, and I know they learned to love each other. In the beginning though, it, Mother says it was more business-like than a relationship. Not even really a friendship.” Rules to follow, customs to learn. Consummation. He was good to her, always, she says, but there were traditions to uphold. “I don’t know that I expected you to be cruel, not after watching your interviews, but… maybe more like that? Not this way.” Bucky makes himself more comfortable against him. Steve, human pillow. Warm and soft, sturdy, but pliable for him. “You’re kind and patient with me. I just… I don’t des…” No, he can’t say that he doesn’t deserve it. Rule and all. “I just mean, I haven’t been respectful of you even though you’ve done so much for me. I will be, husband.”

Steve lips touch the top of his head again, seeking permission. Bucky nods. He kisses. Says, “I haven’t been a proper headship. This marriage can’t work if no one is leading and that’s supposed to fall on me. I apologize for that.”  
“No, Steve, I…”  
“Bucky.”

His voice cuts through the air like a whip. Sharp and accurate, slicing into Bucky’s statement so effectively his mouth goes dry. Bucky shrinks into his husband’s side. 

“Hey, look at me.” Steve says. Bucky does, peering up just enough so Steve can see his eyes. “No arguing. Not this one. I should have had this discussion with you a month ago. You’re the one who’s been tossed into a brand new life, needs to learn how to live it. You’ve been left floating in open water. I’m supposed to be your guide. I may have been kind and patient, sure, but that’s not enough. I should be… your lighthouse? Guide you to shore. I haven’t done that. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Tears fill Bucky’s eyes. Not bad. Overwhelming maybe. He feels good. Right. Here with the husband he never chose. 

“Bucky?”  
He nods. “Yes. Sorry. I forgive you.”  
“Thank you. Go ahead. Keep going.”  
“Um…”

There is something else. Probably plenty of things, but at the moment, one that tops the list. Something he hadn’t really considered, not with Steve, until he saw him with someone else tonight. Bucky had been busy dancing. All night long. Body moving to and fro. Keeping in beat with the music. Fast or slow, partner or no partner, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t given Steve a thought since his feet touched the dance floor. Not until he happened to glance up and catch a glimpse of him with someone else. They were sitting together. Cozy, comfortable. Steve looked at ease and plucked an olive from a martini off a stick--he was fed it from the person with him. A monster, big, ugly green, showed up inside of Bucky’s chest. 

“Do you plan on having paramours?” He asks and feeling his face warm is quick to add, “I mean, it’s okay if you do. S’not up to me of course, so it’s okay.”  
“You wouldn’t mind?” Steve wonders. “If I have other people on the side?”

More tears rush to Bucky’s eyes. These hurt. Painfully trying to get out as Bucky tries to keep them back. Yes, he minds. He minds it so badly he could scream. His wife or husband having relationships outside their marriage, whether casual or extremely close and intimate, was never something he thought he’d need to consider. Marrying up was not the plan. Steve, on the other hand, is allowed to do that. Many people who marry down, especially in an arranged marriage, do. Bucky knows families who have very successful, very happy relationships that even include spouses and paramours altogether. It’s just not the life for him. Maybe it’s what Steve wants though. He did mention loving Sam Wilson. Perhaps he intends on adding him to their House. Bucky has no real say in the matter.

“Bucky?”  
“I don’t mind.” He whispers. “I understand if you’d like to have… a relationship with,” He needs to pause, gather more strength, keep lips from quivering, “someone you have… more in common with… maybe who you…”  
“Stop.” Steve interrupts. “I forgot something. I want honesty. Complete transparency, all the time. I don’t want you telling me things you think I want to hear, or telling me things just to spare my feelings. And right now? You’re shaking. So try again, Bucky. Tell your husband what you’re really thinking.” 

Husband, he says. Not headship. Steve wants him to tell him this as his companion, not his leader.

A whimper, weak and pathetic climbs out of Bucky’s throat. He chews on the tip of his thumb. No idea how Steve is doing this tonight. He’s been nervous in the past, even just hours ago. Unsure. Eyes seeking answers from somewhere far away. Not tonight. Tonight they’re here. Inside him. 

“You were with someone.” Bucky tells him. “Tonight at the club. He… fed you olives.”  
“Oh. You saw that?”  
“Yes.”  
“Is that what made you think of this?”  
Bucky nods. “Yes.” Steve lifts his chin to say, “That was Tony Stark.” “Oh.” Friends. Tony Stark is spoken for. Still. “I… I didn’t like it.”  
“No?” There’s almost a smile on Steve’s face. “Why?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“So then, you’re _not_ okay with the idea of me having paramours?” Bucky feels his face crumple. Jagged breaths, he shakes his head. “Tell me why. Please. I just… Bucky, please, I need to know.”  
“Because…” His voice is high, cracks. Almost pleading. Steve hasn’t completely answered this yet. “Because you’re _my_ husband.” 

He can’t hold it back and those tears finally break through. Steve wipes them away, quickly moving his fingers under Bucky’s eyes as he nods. 

“Right, _your_ husband. I’m _yours_ , Bucky. No one elses.” It actually sounds like he might cry as well. “No one else in this, baby. No one. Just me and you. I promise, okay?”  
Bucky nods, tears flowing. “Okay.”  
“Tell me you believe me.”  
“I do.”  
“Do you mean that?”  
Yes. “I do, husband.”  
“Come here.” Steve pulls him up higher, locks strong arms around him. “It’s okay. I have you. Let it out.”

Bucky’s head is on his shoulder and he does as Steve says. Just lets it out. Endless tears. He doesn’t know for what. Maybe relief. Or maybe just because. Steve sheds some of his own. Tries to hide it, but Bucky knows his hand raises to his eyes every now and then. 

After a little bit, Bucky lifts his head, and Steve says, “Feeling better?”  
Bucky kisses his cheek. “Yeah. M’sorry I lied.”  
“That’s okay. I, um, didn’t tell you about transparency.”  
“No, but you did tell me you wanted my respect. I don’t see how lying is respectful.”  
“True. But… I get it.” Steve hesitates. Offers a smiles. “I thought of something.”  
“Which is?”  
“Rule two.”  
“Uh oh.”  
“You’ll like it.” He promises. “You’re still scared. Of different things. Which…” Steve changes his mind, starts again. “I want you to be able to talk to me, tell me things. Freely. So, I expect you to tell me when you think I’m doing something wrong, making mistakes, no matter what it is, okay? You have full permission to throw something at my head even. If you think I’m being stupid, come out and say it.”

Bucky blinks a few times. His husband grins at him. Joking maybe? But then, he runs a fingertip over Bucky’s nose. Light trails, gentle. 

“You’re serious?” Bucky questions. “You… want me to tell you you’re being stupid?”  
“If you think I am? Yes.” Steve taps their brows once. “You’ve done it before. Told me what to do because you didn’t like what I was doing.”

It takes Bucky a moment to understand. This evening. Steve had listened to him about not clenching his hands the way he was. And Bucky hadn’t wanted him to do it because he was hurting himself.

Without thinking about it, Bucky takes one of Steve’s hands, opens it. Gently moving fingers and revealing the soft palm within. He brings it up to his lips, presses soft kisses to where there had been indents from his nails. 

“No more, okay?” Bucky says.   
Steve nods, vulnerable, giving into Bucky. Whispers, “Okay.” Eyes fill with questions, or thoughts, so many racing through Steve right now, Bucky can see. One comes out. “Bucky, do you hate it here?”  
“No, Steve.”  
“Are you happy here?”  
“You hit Brock Rumlow for me.”  
“Is that a yes?”  
“It’s not a no.” Bucky answers. “I’m not unhappy here. I don’t mind being here. I think I… I can be happy here, husband.”

As he says this, watches his husband’s face brighten a little more, Bucky realizes Steve has been doubting himself. With good reason. He’s already compared himself to Brock. Bucky needs to give him more. 

_Oh, you’re gonna give into some reason._ His brain tells him. _Since you never listen to me._  
 _Alright. I’m sorry._

“Steve? I, um, I should tell you, I’m sorry. If I made you think…” Bucky sighs. Throat feels clogged. “I was miserable or something.”  
“What?”  
“I mean, just in case you thought I was. I want you to know. I’m not. Really.”

A quiet hum, soft, the sound of someone relieved, comes out of Steve. Bucky can even feel it buzz in his chest, feel it move through his body. Arms around him get tighter.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

They talk for hours more. Endless words. Waterfalls to rivers, carried back up to fall again. It’s late into to the night by the time they climb the stairs to go to bed. Black skies turning a dark shade of purple. Morning twilight. 

Bucky’s very used to these late night hours after a club opening. Pouring himself into bed after the fire of the lampposts have long gone out. Dancing and booze. Music. Late night rendezvous with whoever wanted to come home with him. Tonight is different. Intimate and personal. Warmer. Up the stairs with someone who cares about him. Enough to hit someone higher in status. Who held him. Comforted him. 

“I’m going to kiss you goodnight, okay?” Steve says softly at the top of the stairs.  
“Okay.”

Hands at the sides of Bucky’s neck, Steve leans in and does that. Kisses his lips, so soft and tender, breathes new life into him. Then adds one swiftly to his brow. Not asking, just stolen. Turning light cheeks pinks. 

“Thank you for tonight, husband.” Bucky remarks quietly, just before Steve really pulls away. “For everything.”  
“Of course.” He hesitates briefly. Unspoken thoughts that linger just on the surface. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

Steve goes towards his bedroom, and Bucky is struck with such loneliness he can’t bare to watch him leave. 

“Steve?” He stops, looks over his shoulder to give Bucky his attention. Only Bucky doesn’t quite know what to do or say. All he comes up with is, “It gets… cold.”  
Steve tucks his eyebrows in. “What?”  
“In my room. At night. Sometimes.” Bucky rattles his head with a sigh. “I mean, um, sometimes it gets cold at night.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He glances around, and comes forward again, starts towards Bucky’s room. “I’d rather not wake any of the staff in their quarters, but we can get some wood if you’d like. I’ll help start a fire…” 

When Steve realizes that Bucky’s not following him, he trails off. Looks back at him. Awkward and unsure, Bucky can’t lift his eyes. Focused on his feet. Steve usually understands better than this. Picks up quickly. But it’s late. And he’s probably tired.

“Bucky?”  
He nods and comes closer. “Okay. Right. Wood.”  
“Is that… um? You said you were…” Opaque eyes clear. Mind catches up to Bucky’s. “Oh.” A smile grows on Steve’s lips. “Oh…” He breathes it out, almost exclaiming if an exclamation can be whispered, “you’re… cold. In your…” He laughs a little. Soft and to himself. “Oh.” Steve says again. Like all his words have been used up for the night. Cheeks turn red again. “My room. It’s warm. All night long. Would you care to… join me?”

Nerves swell in Bucky’s stomach, growing larger and larger by the with each second. Heart trying like crazy to keep them at bay. Beat… beat… beat… 

_Ignore them._ His heart pleads. _They’re trying to scare you._  
Bucky decides to listen. _Okay._

“Please?”  
Steve smiles. “Ready for bed. My door will be open. Come in when you’re comfortable.” He reaches his hand out, pauses before he touches. Waits for the okay, a nod from Bucky. “No other expectations tonight, okay?”

Bucky leans into the touch. Feels like he’s melting. Was solid, maybe at one time. Now turning into liquid. Molten. 

“Okay.” He murmurs.  
“Go on, Bucky.”

There’s a pull in his stomach, ropes unseen that tug Bucky to do what he’s been told. Obedience. No barking orders, as promised, but still something that Steve expects to be carried out. Only to fulfill something Bucky’s asked for first.

Just one more thing Bucky never expected. Listening to Steve, following him, it feels right. Keeps Bucky grounded. No more hands grasping nothing but open air as he falls into a bottomless pit. 

Bucky hurries to get ready for bed, fearful he might change his mind. Nerves, still there, still poking and prodding inside his body, just might get the better of him. He sheds the night’s suit. It served him well, and Bucky hopes maybe they team up again sometime. Freshened up, in pajamas, comfortable, now anxious, but still ready, Bucky goes to Steve’s room. Door’s open, just like he said it would be.

Steve is in his bed. It’s bigger than Bucky’s. King-sized, satin maroon sheets and thick, goose-feathered comforter. Friendly pillows, plush and welcoming. Fire already roaring in the almost wall-length fireplace across from the foot of the bed. Crack and pops from the fire are the only noises at the moment. Crackle, pop, pop, crack, crackle. 

There’s a notebook against Steve’s thighs, the fire and the lamp on the nightstand providing ample light for him to see what he’s doing. A pencil moves across it quickly, his husband’s eyes scanning the page as his hand pushes the pencil swiftly along the page. Bucky wonders if maybe Steve keeps journals. Perhaps that’s what he’s doing when he’s writing in all those notebooks. 

Just standing there, shifting his weight, left foot, right foot, waiting to be noticed, Bucky finally clears his throat. Seems Steve is so engrossed in what he was doing that if Bucky didn’t announce his presence, who knows how long he’d have waited. And to be honest, Steve looked rather… intriguing just now. So… immersed, completely enraptured in whatever world he found himself in. 

_Deep in thought Steve_. His eyes point out.  
 _No._ Bucky argues a bit. _It was more than that._

But he has no time to ponder it, no time to argue with his eyes or any other part. Steve knows he’s with him now. He closes the book, sets it aside. There’s a smile on his face, but he’s nervous, just as nervous as Bucky. The two will make quite a pair if they ever do consummate. Two piles of nerves. 

“Hi.” Steve greets.  
“Hello.” He tries to make his smile appear less anxious. Lips don’t cooperate very well, but he knows they try.   
Steve pulls the blanket on the vacant side away, pats the bed. “Do you still…? Only if you want to. I don’t… um… if you’re not.” He shakes his head, lips folded in. “You don’t have to.”

Bucky looks at the bed, feels its judgement. It knows how lousy he’s been to Steve. How careful Steve treats it and anyone he might have shared it with. Mattress, blankets, pillows, they’re leery of Bucky, but will take him for Steve, treat him right if he proves himself worthy. 

He comes into the room, cautious, not wanting to upset anything else in there. Steve holds his hand out as Bucky nears the bed. It’s not like he needs the help, but… well, Bucky needs the help. Dizzy again. So much in one evening. So much, so fast. Knocked down and built back up. Soft touches, kind words, kisses, hugs, strong arms, sunshine eyes. Steve Rogers. 

“My turn, right?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s laying against the pillows, next to him, but Steve’s still sitting up. He turns his head, looks over. 

“For?”  
“Questions.”  
Bucky smiles. “Those questions. Is it your turn?”  
“I think so. Last one was you asking if I liked snow.”  
“Oh right. You said yes. Because then you can warm up.” Bucky pretends to roll his eyes, but he really thought that answer was cute, even if he no longer likes the snow at all. “So then, yes, it’s your turn.”  
“Okay. Blankets? Wrapped all around you? Or just tossed over?”  
He smirks, sighs a chuckles. “Wrapped all around.”  
“Ah.” Steve nods, pulls the blankets up for him and tucks him in. He hovers over him a bit. Holds his arms out. “May I?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Instead, he fits himself against Steve’s body, lets his husband envelop him once again. He’s asked again if those lips of Steve’s can seek out a spot on him. Bucky agrees and this time they press against the back of his neck. The touch sends a fevered quiver down Bucky’s spine. He’s talking a bit, that much he can tell by the vibrations in his own throat. Steve is chuckling, laughing at him. Bucky’s not making sense. The day is catching up to him. Turning thoughts into incoherent ramblings, scraps of sentences mashed up and haphazardly put together. 

Bucky has no time to even realize that he’s falling asleep. But he does know that he feels oddly at peace. Here. Wrapped up in his husband’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! Sorry there's no more to be posted yet. I'm still working on keeping things ahead to stay on a weekly update schedule. But, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Let's close this week out with
> 
> Bucky first asking Steve what he wants from him ((before they finally talk))
> 
> Lying to Steve about being okay with him having paramours
> 
> And Bucky opening up and talking to his husband and headship
> 
> And here we get Steve telling Bucky he doesn't intend on ever changing ((before their talk))
> 
> After hearing about Bucky's relationship with Brock
> 
> Then Steve picking up on Bucky's way of asking to share a bedroom for the night
> 
> And lastly, not a gif, but an image credited to [SteveBuckypornlookalikes](http://www.stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/)  
> of Steve and Bucky cuddling in bed
> 
> That concludes this week's updates. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for stopping by and I hope to see you next week!!


	12. Twelfth Chapters of all the Chapters

Autumn light streams in through Steve’s bedroom window. Colored slightly, gold and auburn. Glowing softly through the leaves leftover on the trees outside. The sun is high up in the sky, where it’ll soon begin its slow descent down. Steve wakes to hair in his face. Drool on his nightshirt. He’s not bothered by either. 

His husband is still sound asleep, tucked comfortably in his arms. Steve lets out a contented sigh. One breath for how well the night ended up. Another for thoughts of the future. A good one. With Bucky. Steve smiles, wants badly to plant a morning--afternoon--kiss on his husband’s head. He won’t. Not without that permission he’s promised he’ll get before doing so. The temptation is so hard to resist, with Bucky so close. Steve can smell the little bit of product that’s still in his hair, the hint of vanilla scented shampoo, too. 

Bucky’s limbs are long, his legs tangled up with Steve’s, right arm tossed over Steve’s torso. Like he said last night, the blanket’s pulled all up around. A personal cocoon, trapping him in the warmth he prefers. 

Last night, Steve didn’t know how things would progress. An explosion of words, misunderstandings and a month of miscommunication, of a near lack of communication. But it cleared a path. Opened a door for a way to fix things. After hearing about Brock Rumlow, about the trust Bucky wanted to give, wanted to when he was in a period of hurt and mourning--a period not still over--and then had it taken advantage of, it made things a little clearer. No wonder Bucky was so reluctant to let Steve get close, had so many walls up. Cold, hard, thick walls. Steve is sure there’s more about Brock than Bucky let on. There was guilt lining his face, buried deep in his husband’s eyes. Maybe one day he’ll learn the whole story, but for now, Steve will let it lie. 

The way things turned out, the walls that came down, it’s well worth not knowing the whole story. Bucky was so open, so receptive to everything Steve had to tell him. It couldn’t have been all that easy, yet Bucky accepted it, let it sink in, and that which was difficult, he let Steve know. In all honestly, Bucky truly amazed him last night. None of this is easy. More than that, it’s downright hard, and Steve meant what he said about taking the fault in their slow, almost non-existent progress. He’s the one meant to lead this marriage, be the head of the family if they’re going to succeed. Like he said last night, he left Bucky in open water. Flailing just below the surface. It’s true that Bucky hasn’t exactly kept up his end of the bargain either. Bitter and stubborn, still mourning a life lost has seen to that. But he never asked to be here. With no one to lead, why would he ask to be led?

Steve had told Bucky during their honeymoon that he intended to be his headship. So far, with the exception of putting his foot down after Bucky’s outburst with Truvie and setting up his rule, he hasn’t done that. He thought he’d been doing them both a favor by being lenient and patient. Biding time, letting them get use to one another. Avoiding the awkward and unsure. One step at a time. It had been a mistake. A huge injustice. Because as soon as Steve threw a rope to Bucky, his husband seemed to grab onto it with both hands. Tightly. 

Questions asked, fears confessed, clarification sought. Honesty, openness, still hidden under shyness, he’s still Bucky after all, but he was like the Bucky Steve’s watched in interviews. Only so much better. The Bucky he got to be with last night is _his_ husband. _His_ husband. No one elses. Steve never realized how possessive he might become, but when Bucky raised his question about paramours, and Steve saw how horrified he was at the thought of Steve having a relationship without him, he understood right then and there how Bucky felt. Bucky with someone else, in someone else’s arms, lips to another’s, body offered for use. No good. The thought hurts. Painful. 

It’s Steve’s decision to have paramours or not. Always knew he wouldn’t. He’s just not wired that way. Steve’s sure there are headships who don’t care how their spouses feel about it and take on paramours anyway, but there are those who make their families work with them beautifully. Love can be endless. Always wonderful. 

But the thought of Bucky being possessive of _him_ , Steve would be lying if he says it didn’t make him feel good. He feels good right now. Feels _right_. Last night Steve took care of his husband. Best he could anyway. Bucky let him. Probably best he could allow. Building trust. Slow going. Starting though. Foundation has finally been poured. No matter how anxious he felt at some points, he couldn’t let Bucky know. Steve could feel the strength and courage that Bucky drew from him. 

His husband is simply incredible. Steve can see that, always had reason to think it. Underneath the layers of doubt and insecurity is loyalty and passion, a shy, playful man. So brave that he’s here with Steve today. Falling in love with Bucky will be easy, if Steve’s not in love with him already. 

Bucky moves, repositions his head and snuggles against Steve’s chest like he’s trying to make himself more comfortable in his sleep. Steve smiles. He’ll be Bucky’s pillow, Bucky can be his blanket. Even trade. Seemed to work last night. This morning really. Early morning swirls of an evening gone remarkably well. 

There’s a knock at the door. Soft, gentle. An attempt to call attention, but not disturb. Rap, tap, tap. Steve doesn’t want to wake his husband, not yet, but still feels the need to answer the knocking.

“Yes?” He calls softly.  
Truvie pokes her head in. “You’re up, Lord Rogers. Is there anything I can get for you and Lord Barnes?”  
Steve glances down at his sleeping husband. “Some breakfast would be nice, Truvie. You can bring it up here, if you wouldn’t mind.”  
“Not at all, m’Lord.” Truvie pauses after a nod of her head. “Can I trust that things went well last night, sir?”  
He smiles, feels a blush take his cheeks. “I think so.”  
“I’m glad, m’Lord.” She says. “I’ll have breakfast ready in about an hour, sir.”  
“Thank you, Truvie.”

She goes then, and once again Bucky moves a bit against Steve’s chest. It’s a little more this time, and Steve thinks he might be stirring out of his sleep. Body tensing and muscles tightening as though they’re preparing for some gruelling tournament--waking of course. He makes a small noise, raspy almost, like the idea of getting up annoys him. Dreamland still has him, and Bucky’s reluctant to let the real world take him out of it yet. Steve wants to laugh. He’s a morning person himself, or, since it’s afternoon, an easy to rise person. To help ease him out of his sleep, Steve runs his fingers across the back of Bucky’s neck as he seemed to enjoy very much last night. He responds to it, immediately relaxing him, but not causing him to fall back into his sleep. Bucky yawns and lifts his head. 

Nerves show their ugly faces in Steve’s stomach. Walls came down last night, that much is true. But there’s no telling if they’ve slowly crept back up while Bucky slept, new ways to keep them from moving along. Bucky had been cooperative last night, and while Steve doesn’t mind having to push a little, even anticipates it a bit, he has no desire to ever have to fight to bring those walls down. 

Bucky glances around a bit. Steve can tell he’s confused, surroundings different than what he’s grown used to, and his face crinkles in that cute way. Taking in a deep breath, the waking fog must begin to clear, since Bucky takes note of the body he’s resting on and slowly lifts his chin. A pair of steel-blue eyes blink once, then twice, before his husband sighs an outright giggle, burying his smile back in Steve’s chest as he does. 

“Good morning.” He says into Steve’s shirt.

Nerves begin to settle and Steve lets out a silent, relieved sigh. Be strong for Bucky. Let Bucky be strong for him when it’s needed. Right now, Steve still needs to be strong. 

“Actually,” Steve slips his fingers under Bucky’s chin so he can see his face again. “Good afternoon is more accurate.”  
“Oh.” Bucky chews his lip for a moment. Looks like he’s a little nervous himself. “Sorry. I didn’t keep you from running, did I?”  
“Oh, no,” Steve chuckles. He had, in fact, let Sam know yesterday that he probably wouldn’t be running with him this morning. “I only woke a little while ago. I need sleep too, y’know. I’m not a machine.”  
“Hm.” His husband seems to consider this for a moment. Bucky regards him lightly, a playful comment forming in the lines around his eyes. “Sometimes you make me wonder, husband.”  
“Do I now?” Steve smiles. “And why is that?”

Bucky shrugs as he lifts himself away from Steve, stretching as he does. A yawn pulls his mouth open and while he’s sucking air into his lungs, arms high above his head, an answer comes out.

“I guess it’s cause you’re so perfect.”

Steve’s sure he must have heard that wrong. Ears playing tricks on him. Wouldn’t be the first time. A long time ago they didn’t work properly. People needed to speak up for him when he didn’t have his hearing aides in. Only the statement’s floating around the both of them, and it must circle around Bucky too, for he freezes mid-stretch and must realize what’s just slipped off his tongue. He yanks his arms back down, pressing his fingers to his mouth like that will somehow shove what he’s said back in there, take it out of Steve’s ears. 

“Oh…” He breathes into his hand, eyes peeking over at Steve one, two, three times until Bucky finally looks at him. “I didn’t… I mean…”

Light skinned to red in seconds, a deep blush rushes through Bucky completely. He can hardly mean that Steve is perfect, even if he drops himself back down into the pillows. Seeking a place to hide, and finding billowy softness that sucks him in.

“Perfect?” Steve wonders, question evident in his voice. 

Buried deep in the pillows, one helping him by covering his face, Bucky starts mumbling something. Steve lifts his betraying pillow away, Bucky first squeezes his eyes tighter before peeking at him.

“What was that?” Steve asks. “I can’t hear you.”  
“Um, I said,” Bucky lets out an almost silent moan. “I just mean that, you always say the right thing. To me.”  
“I do?” 

Steve is genuinely surprised by this. Feels the surprise on his face, knows it’s in the air around him. For weeks now, he’s thought the opposite. In fact, if not for Bucky’s friend, Maria, letting Steve in on her thoughts of Bucky liking him, Steve has been convinced of his husband’s utter indifference towards him. In some ways, that’s been even worse than the thought of Bucky hating him. 

“You do.” Bucky says, sitting back up, and, not looking at him, but not really looking away. Not quite the same thing. “You usually do anyway. I think you’re good at this. At being my husband. I should have told you. Or made it clearer. I’m sorry.”  
“No that…” 

Steve tries to figure out what to say. Like he usually has to do. Because contrary to what Bucky says, he always has too many words jumbled up inside his brain, afraid too many will come out at once or sometimes not enough. That’s why art is easy. No words. Just images. A creation in his mind, his to shape in whatever way his hands see fit. Or whatever way it sees fit to take. Steve can’t always control it. 

“Um…” Steve takes in a breath. Sorts through all the thoughts in his head. Hurried, living up to his husband’s expectations. Perfect, he called him. “I don’t know what to say.”  
Bucky laughs. At him, Steve’s sure.“You did it again.”  
“What’d I do?”  
“Said the right thing.”  
“But…” Steve’s chuckle is uneasy. He’s not sure what’s going on. “I don’t understand.”  
“I know. I don’t think I’m too sure either. But…” Bucky holds a hand out, long fingers seeking to be held. Steve places his own in it and his husband brings his knuckles up to his mouth. Kisses twice before speaking again. “Even when you’re not sure what to say, what you _do_ say, makes me feel… better?” Bucky rattles his head. “I don’t know. I think _I’m_ the one who never says the right thing. I always hurt you. I’ve made you feel bad and wrong and I didn’t mean to. You’re a good husband, Steve. Really. I’m…” He shrugs. Looks a bit to the side and struggles to look up into Steve’s eyes. “If I had to marry someone… I’m glad… it was you.”

Steve’s heart swells. Several sizes. His chest is no longer able to contain it. But Bucky’s face falls only seconds after he makes his remark and he hides it behind Steve’s hand.

“See. Always the wrong thing.” He grumbles. 

Bucky sounds annoyed. With himself though. Steve can’t figure out why. He’s positively floating. 

“What? Bucky…”  
“If I _had_ to, I said.” He points out. “I shouldn’t have said that. I could have left that out. No reason to say it. You already know that part.” Guilt shines through Bucky’s eyes when he peeks out from the top of Steve’s fingers, lowering the hand he’s hidden behind. “M’sorry. Always saying wrong things to you. Not you to me though. You’re a good husband, Steve.”

Still on air. That’s where Steve is. Really. His husband may have a point about not having to say that he needed to marry Steve, another blunt reminder that he’s been forced to be here, but his husband is also making him feel quite incredible. 

“A good husband…” Steve whispers, repeating Bucky’s compliment. Eyes closed softly as he continues to let it sink in, even if there is something preventing it from seeping into his heart completely. “Not a good headship.”  
“What?”

Steve opens his eyes again, stares deeply into the two oceans muddled with confusion. He sighs.

“Tell me the truth. I’ve not been a good headship. Not at all.”  
“Well…” Bucky folds those lips of his in. Looks unsure how to answer this. “You… haven’t… I mean…”  
“Right. I haven’t acted as headship. I should have though, right? I made a mistake in letting us go on so long without doing so. That’s true, isn’t it?”  
“Um. I…” He fiddles with his fingers a bit, looking for comfort probably. Coming up short it looks like. No answer. Seems as though he’s worried about insulting him. “Steve…”  
“You do remember what I told you last night? That rule I gave you?”  
Bucky’s mouth open. He discards whatever answer was there, swallows it back down and goes with, “Tell you if you’re wrong or making mistakes.”  
“Or?”  
Cheeks burn red again. “Or if you’re being stupid.”  
“Right. So tell me the truth.” Steve requests, sensing an immediate change in Bucky when he uses this tone of voice. “Do you think it was a mistake that I took so long to actively be your headship?”  
“Oh.” A sort of whimper comes out next, and Steve wonders what the noise means. But Bucky lowers his chin as he prepares to answer, just as Steve wants him to. “If you… um… okay, if you asked me a few days ago, I would have said no.” He takes in a deep breath, combs his fingers through his hair even though it just ends up right back where it was, hanging over the sides of his face again. “Today though? I think, maybe… yes. It was a mistake. I feel…”

Bucky cuts off there, keeps those ocean eyes of his downcast. Steve wishes he’d lift them for him. Give him a chance to see if the ice is hard or glistening. 

“Hey.” Steve says, earning the slightest of flinches from his husband. Bucky lifts his head and Steve extends his hand, waits for the okay before cupping his cheek the way his husband likes. Touches. Connections to each other. “Go ahead. It’s okay. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

Touching his hand closer to his cheek like it gives him strength, Bucky folds his lips in, eyes closed again, and nods.

“Honesty and transparency.” He murmurs, mostly to himself. “I feel better today, Steve.” Bucky tells him. “I don’t feel as… lost? Yes, I think… I think that’s the best way to describe it.”  
“So then, last night, tell me honestly, it wasn’t too much? Too all at once?”  
“Oh. No, not at all.” He lowers his own hand, but leans into Steve’s touch more, so Steve leaves his hand where it is. “I can expect more talks like that, right?”  
“Mhmm.” Yes. Lots more. Last night was probably just the tip of the iceberg, no matter how much they got out. It’s good that Bucky is already aware of this. Steve brushes his thumb along Bucky’s jawline, by his lip, not swollen like he feared it would be. “At any given moment, too. If I think of something, and I come to find you? Whatever’s going on stops, okay? We talk right then and there.” Bucky nods. “Same goes for you. If it’s something important, something you need to see me about, you come find me, I’ll stop. We talk.”  
“Unless you’re working downstairs, right?”

So many knots tie in Steve’s belly it’s easy to lose count. Not just once either, but doubled. Profanities go off in his head. He even swears a prayer or two. He takes his hand away and Bucky looks almost startled by it. 

“What?” He whispers.  
“When you work in your downstairs office?” Bucky clarifies as if Steve already doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Truvie says you don’t like to be disturbed. That you go down there to work on your more important cases.” He pulls his eyebrows in. Must sense the unease. There _is_ plenty of it. “Is that… wrong?”  
“Oh no. It’s right.” But he’s been too wonderful, so open and honest. Fresh air. Clean and crisp, a winter’s breeze. And Steve’s lying to him. Keeping a secret so deep it could land him in prison for having it.  
“Are you okay, husband?” Bucky asks, quiet voice, fearful even. “Did I say something wrong again?”

The exhibit he’s working on opens after the New Year. It’ll be his last. It has to be. If this is Bucky, true and honest, letting Steve in after not all that much time, opening himself up to trusting him… Steve can’t even try to kid himself, he’s falling in love with him. Has been the moment he saw him walking towards him in the Chapel. He’s known this person was behind the walls, beyond the layers of fear and doubt. Sunrise on the ocean, sweet and passionate. He just needs to be patient. Still does. This will take time. An artist he can’t be. A husband and headship he can. Steve needs to chose. Captain or Bucky. He chooses Bucky.

“No, Bucky,” He assures him. “You said nothing wrong. And yes. I’m okay.” Stomach steps in just in time, growling ever so slightly. “Just hungry.”  
“Ah. I guess I’ve kept you from breakfast. Should we…”  
“No, I’ve asked Truvie to bring it to us. She should be here soon.”  
Bucky grins. “Breakfast in bed? You really do intend to spoil me. I hope you’re prepared to handle the consequences of a spoiled Bucky.”  
“And what are those?” Steve asks, chuckle in his question, momentary unease losing to Bucky’s charm. “The consequences to spoiling you?”

Bucky settles himself on the bed some more, making friends with the pillows and wrapping the blanket around him more. Getting comfortable, Steve thinks. In bed, with him. Bucky likes to be warm. Likes to be held, to be touched and pet. In adjusting his position, he’s inadvertently gotten closer to Steve. Or maybe it’s done on purpose. Steve’s not sure. 

“Illegal looks. Is that what you called it last night?”

He peers up at him, giving Steve exactly one of those. Two bright orbs, innocent and endearing, precious even. Steve’s willpower shakes and whines, even though nothing’s been asked of him. He laughs and tears his gaze away. 

“Yes.” He sighs. “More of those?”  
“Oh I have plenty of those.” Bucky snickers. “But really, I guess I’ll just be your best friend forever. Clingy. Waiting for you to spoil me more.”  
“Best friend?” Steve pretends to think about this for a moment as though the thought of it hasn’t warmed his very core. “I’m not sure I mind so much.”

Bucky’s fighting back a smile, for his lap’s sake it would seem since his lap is all that would really get the chance to see it. 

“I thought Sam was your best friend.”  
“And Peggy. I haven’t tried, but I believe my heart might have room for one more. I can try to squeeze you in.”  
He laughs quietly, a little bit. Then says, “Because you’re not trying to… I mean…” Bucky hesitates, purses his lips in irritation then pushes a hard breath through them before glancing up through long lashes, “It’s okay to ask again?”  
“To ask…? Oh.” That’s right. Bucky’s worried that Steve might try to use him. A legitimate fear. People use marriages to better their Houses all the time. “Sure. I told you. It’s fine. Go ahead. Ask.”  
“You don’t want to use me for anything, right?” Bucky sighs and adds before Steve answers, “Even though I used you for a dowry? Steve, I’m sorry. I have no right…”  
“Stop.” Bucky does. Very quickly. Like whatever else he had to say dried up in an instant, disappearing under the heat of Steve’s command. “I already told you. I’ll never hold that against you. S’not your fault. Wasn’t your choice.”  
“Well… it was. You let it be.”

Steve reconnects their touch, glides fingertips along his husband’s throat until their resting at the back of his neck. Knows he has permission to do so when Bucky shuts his eyes as soon as he got close.

“Your choice that day was to marry me. You could have walked out on the House Barnes, on your family. Left the responsibility to your sister.” Bucky winces at that. The thought must be painful. “You didn’t. Took on and kept the burden as though there was no choice.” Steve tightens the hand on Bucky’s neck just a bit, just enough so that his hand his almost hugging his husband. “The answer is still no, by the way. No, I’m not trying to get anything out of you. And you’re in an uneven marriage. You definitely have the right to feel these worries.”

A soft humming noise fills his husband’s throat. Steve’s not sure what that means, but the sound is quiet and content, and Bucky leans his head into Steve’s outstretched arm. When his eyes open again, they’re calm. It only occurs to Steve now that a few moments ago they had darkened. Maybe by fear, possibly leftover bitterness. They’ve cleared now. Storm averted. Passed over, leaving blue skies in its wake. 

“You did it again.” Bucky comments.  
“Did what?”  
“Said all the right things. Perfect.” He shakes his head, a bit of wonder on his face. Steve doesn’t know if perfect is quite the word he’d choose, but Bucky seems to think so. “You still sound like a textbook though.”  
“I told you I would.” Steve chuckles. “Will that bother you?”  
“No. I like it actually. Can I ask another question? About what we talked about last night?”  
“Of course!” He exclaims. “You can ask me anything you want. Always.”  
“‘Kay. It’s just. You talked about me being…” Bucky pauses. Seems to struggle with going on. Something stuck in his mouth. “With me being…” He spits it out, both irritated with the word and trying to rid his body of it, but maybe not has scared of it as he had been when reciting his vows, “obedient. To you. Right?”  
“Yes?”  
“Well, I was wondering…” He picks at bit at the end of the blanket. “What happens if… I have trouble with it?”

That’s a good question. One that Steve probably should have taken time to consider. Domestic discipline is actually a pretty common practice among couples in an uneven marriage. There was a time when Bucky’s question wouldn’t even be a question. Just an expectation. Things have changed with time. Adjustments made to fit House to House and family to family. It can mean anything of course. From loss of privileges, to having to sit in a corner, even spankings. Steve can’t imagine lifting a hand to his husband. Unless, of course, Bucky was okay with it. The idea makes heat pool in his belly. 

“So, just to be clear,” Steve says, “You want to know how I’ll handle you not doing something I’ve specifically asked you to do? Or told you not to do? Like speaking poorly about yourself?”  
“Yes.” Bucky whispers.  
“Okay. Um…” He takes in a deep breath. Thinks it over in the amount of time it takes to suck oxygen in and push it back out. “Well, I told you what’ll happen if you talk bad about yourself.”  
He nods. “No sweets.”  
“Right. Not until I say so. As far as something more than that. I’d like your opinion. How would _you_ like me to handle it?”  
“You want… _my_ opinion?”  
“Of course I do. I want to correct your behavior, not make you resent me. So if discipline would do more harm than good, then perhaps just sitting down and talking is better. Or maybe discipline will give us both a sense of closure? Talk to me, Bucky.”

His husband makes that whimpering noise in his throat again. The one Steve can’t quite decipher whether it’s good or bad. Maybe neither. He’s still picking at the ends of the blanket, plucking out a few feathers from the inside. 

“Again if you asked me a few days ago…” Bucky stops, slides the feather in his hand across his lip, “I mean, just a few hours ago even, I’d have said no to it all. All of this really. But…” He sighs, tosses the feather now like it said something that annoyed him. “I don’t know. If I know I did something that upset you or displeased you? I…” Bucky groans and falls to the side, ends up with his head in Steve’s lap. “I think I’d _want_ you to do something about it. I think. I don’t know.” His face is hidden somewhere in blanket and Steve’s legs. “I have no idea what’s happening to me. When you decided to make that first rule, even though it’s not a bad rule, I…” He hesitates, but decides to go on. “I really sort of hated you in that moment.”

Nausea rocks Steve’s belly. It rolls over him in a cold wave. This is the first time Bucky’s mentioned anything about hating him. It’s not the same as really hating him, just one moment of hate, but it something still feels awful.

“Fuck.” Bucky mutters, gaining Steve’s attention again. “I did it again.”  
“You…”  
“I don’t mean that I hated you. Because I didn’t. I’ve never hated you, Steve. Please believe me.” Steve does. Just the pleading his voice his enough to make him believe that. “It’s just… at that particular moment, the idea of you, of _any_ one having the authority to give me rules about my life… it just, well, the thought, it made me sick to my stomach.”  
“And… um, and now?”  
“It’s like, between yesterday and today… something changed.”

Steve chuckles, sweeps his hand over Bucky’s hair. He knows what he means, too. Things have changed. Drastically. Night and day. Maybe day to night. He’s not sure. 

“I know. How about this, for now, we’ll stick with reprimands and loss of privilege? If you think you need more, we’ll talk. If I think you _deserve_ more, we’ll talk. Sound okay?” Bucky says something, but whatever it is gets too muffled by the blankets. Steve pauses his hand and gives just a little tug on his husband’s hair. “I can’t hear you, Bucky.”

Bucky turns his head so that half his face is visible. One bright eye fixes on Steve, half a mouth, pulled into something of a grin. Maybe. Not a frown or a grimace anyway. 

He says, “I said, that sounds okay for now.”  
“Okay. Are we still good? Okay I mean? Not too much?”  
“Um. Yeah.”

Steve’s not so sure Bucky’s be honest right now. He’s gotten very pale. The bit of skin that’s showing is white, almost clammy.

“No.” Steve takes his hand away which makes Bucky face him completely now. His husband is trying to hide it, but he looks ill. Plump lips still red, but he’s white as a sheet. “Sit up.” He does. Slowly. Keeps his hands, one on Steve’s leg, down for balance. “Tell me the truth. How’re you feeling? Cause I’m thinking maybe you want to feel better than you actually do?”  
“Uh…” His eyebrows are pulled in and Bucky lowers his chin. “No. Maybe. Yes.”  
“That was three answers. All different. I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific.” He says, offering his hand to the side of Bucky’s face again. “Okay?”  
“Yes. Oh, to this.” Bucky guides his hand there. “To the rest, I don’t feel so good. Not bad really. Just… dizzy? A lot in my head, I think.”  
“You wanna take a break? Time to yourself? You can go to your room for a bit. I’ll come get you when breakfast is ready.” When he makes this suggestion, his husband almost looks even worse than he did a moment ago. Steve shakes his head, realizes how that all might sound like commands to Bucky. “Wait, that’s all up to you. You don’t have to do any of that. Except the breakfast thing. And this is not me kicking you out either. If you’d rather stay, that’s fine, too.”

The tension melts out of Bucky’s shoulders immediately, Steve’s comfort and reassurances doing wonders. Baby steps turned leaps and bounds. One step too far. Still safe though. Bucky nods. 

“I’ll go to my room. Freshen up a bit.” He pulls a bit on his ear. Bucky starts to get out of bed, stays a moment longer sitting just at the side of it. “I never thanked you for last night. For all of it. Taking me out, staying out. I know it makes you uncomfortable. And for, what happened with Brock. Just, thank you, husband.”  
“You’re very welcome, Bucky.” Steve tells him, hesitant to place his hand down on Bucky’s until Bucky glances down and notices. “Go ahead.” He says. Steve does, hugging fingers around his husband’s. Murmurs, “Thank you, too. For helping me when we got there. For what you did.” Bucky’s eyes shine. Looks like he might want to say something, but chooses not to. “And for being so open with me later.”

Bucky’s hand squeezes back. There’s another blush in his cheeks and he’s once again biting down on a grin. 

“You’re welcome.” He whispers before sliding off the edge of the bed, and then turning back around. “You know, um, Steve, you don’t have to ask anymore, I mean, to touch me. I… I like it… your touch. I like it when you touch me.”

Grinning, ear to ear, can’t even hold back if he wanted to, which he doesn’t, Steve takes advantage of that new freedom immediately. He likes touching Bucky. And Bucky likes his touches. He reaches out and gently wraps his hand around his husband’s wrist, an affectionate shackle, one easily broken out of, one easily made tighter. Trust being built. Steve guides him closer, stretches an arm up and runs his hand across Bucky’s neck. 

“Still for kisses.” Steve assures him. “Until you’re comfortable.”

Bucky nods. Appreciation there, mixed in with something that Steve thinks is disappointment. 

“I’m sorry. I’d like to, I just…”  
“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. One step at a time.” He draws circles with his thumb on the hand he’s still holding. “Now? Can I have one?”

Without a word, but with a great effort on Bucky’s part to once again hold in a smile, Steve’s brilliant husband takes his hand back, places both of them on the sides of his face and plants what must be the sweetest kiss of Steve’s life on his lips. 

~~

The door closes softly behind him. It’s thick. Handcrafted mahogany. Does nothing to keep the sensations Steve’s evoked within Bucky from following. He leans up against it. Wonders if it’s okay to panic a little. Or maybe a lot. 

_It’s okay._ His heart says. _Panic. But there’s no going back now._  
Bucky whimpers. _Are you sure?_  
His brain chimes in, _We’re sure._

Of all the times for them to be on the same side of an argument. If only they were in agreement over what’s happening to him. Bucky’s not lying when he says to Steve he feels better today, less lost. Just yesterday he felt like he running aimlessly in a deep, dark forest, attempting to just feel his way through. He just didn’t _know_ that’s how he felt. Not until Steve gave him direction. Stepped into the forest with him. Took Bucky’s hand, led him out. Brought him to sunlight again. 

Panic does take him. Briefly shaking through his limbs. The idea of having a headship, from the very first moment it might have been a reality, it terrified Bucky. Having to give up any authority of his life, no matter how little of it, the thought left a bad taste in his mouth. Stale and spoiled. As far as he had been concerned, a headship in his life, someone with the power to tell him what he could and couldn’t do at all times, could never be a good thing. Now that Steve’s taken an active approach in being his headship, it no longer seems so terrifying. It actually feels almost freeing. There’s something about it, when Steve takes that control, body and voice changing, but still remaining at the very core, kind and patient Steve, that makes Bucky feel like he’s sinking. Sinking into someplace warm, and yet floating somewhere high as well, too high for him to even see the ground below. This isn’t something he’s ever anticipated, never experienced, even to the slightest degree. 

Bucky glances out at the room. It’s welcoming today. Friendlier. Almost calls out to him. He lets the air out of his lungs. Didn’t know he was holding his breath until it’s out.

 _Well thank you!_ His lungs cry out.  
 _Oops. Sorry._

Steve Rogers. He’s done something to Bucky. Changed him somehow. Bucky told him during their honeymoon at the Rogers’ farmhouse, ostentatious and extravagant and beautiful in every sense of the word, that he expected to be held to his vows. Vows that state he swears to submit his life to Steve’s headship, to live that life according to him, to obey him. Obey him. There’s less recoil to that word today, less fear altogether of submitting to Steve as his headship. 

Lips tingle a bit. Lips, fingers, chin, cheek, everywhere Steve’s touched. Every part that longs for Steve’s touch. The husband he never asked for. The headship he didn’t want. Now they’re talking about discipline. Bucky hears his breath catch. Tries to tell himself he’ll avoid discipline because he doesn't want to deal with it. When really…

 _Lie._ His gut taunts. _You don’t want to **deserve** discipline._  
 _Please… don’t…_

Because he truly doesn’t want to displease his husband. Bucky doesn’t want to do anything to let Steve down, to do something that gives him a reason to have to reprimand him. To make those sunshine eyes cast shadows on him. To have that sweet, honey voice turn stern to tell him he’s disappointed in him. It already makes Bucky shiver. Has his eyes swimming with tears. Perhaps discipline will be necessary, if there ever is a need. Bucky wipes a tear away. He’s done nothing wrong, and yet feels a strong urge to make amends. Physical need, proof that things are better. Forgiveness earned, past behind them. 

_Oh nothing wrong, huh?_ His conscience mocks. _You don’t think I’d let you forget, do you?_  
Bucky plugs fingers into his ears. _Please stop. I don’t wanna think about it._  
 _You’re the one who told Alexander Pierce…_

“I know what I told him!” Bucky exclaims to a room full of innocent items. Items that have nothing to do with his error. “I… I didn’t mean to do it…”

Yes, he told Alexander about Steve’s previous health conditions. But… he said nothing about his procedure or his medications. There’s… nothing the House of Pierce can do to Steve based on one little comment. Bucky’s sure of it. 

Bucky rattles his head, pushes away from the door and goes to the restroom. Can’t let guilt consume him now. There’s no room for it at the moment. It’ll stick around, hide under stronger emotions and show up in the middle of the night when Bucky’s desperate for sleep like it’s been doing. 

After washing up and dressing, comfortably, leaving top buttons undone, Bucky goes to the chiffonier. It was already in the room when he got there, so it’s not really his, though it’s warming up to him, the drawers sliding open smoothly when he needs them to. It’s the top one Bucky’s interested in right now. Opens quietly, no sticking or stopping. One quick move. In there’s the note from Steve. The one he left with Bucky’s boutonniere on their wedding day. Bucky reads it again, runs his thumb over it. Steve’s beliefs that they can be happy, his promise that Bucky can leave if he didn’t share them, shaded hearts. Thumb runs across it. 

Bucky’s come to his room so that he could have some time alone. Time to process thoughts. Now that he has it, he finds himself feeling _too_ alone. He misses Steve. Wants to go back to him right now. 

“What’s happening to me?” He wonders out loud. 

Nothing has an answer for him. Not even a clever quip. 

He feels completely out of control. Like he’s lost control of his own life and handed it over to Steve. Neatly packaged. Wrapped in a bow even. And instead of feeling as though he’s lost something, Bucky feels right. A huge burden lifted and taken away. 

There’s still fear. Uncertainty. Fog slithering through a path unknown, untraveled. Yet Bucky’s buzzing. Body ignited with something between such elation and delight, that he hardly knows what to do with himself. 

Bucky wants more of Steve. Craves so much more. Is much too afraid to give in to that desire. What if… what if his friends are right? What if he _does_ like Steve? More than just in this physical need? What if he falls in love with him? What happens if Bucky fall in love with Steve… and Steve, as it turns out, doesn’t love him back? Can’t love him back? 

Heartache touches Bucky’s chest. A knife right through his ribs. Nothing less than he deserves. A man like Steve Rogers? Bucky’s not so sure he deserves his love. 

He’s not quite sure if he can handle that. Maybe they can be happy. Friends. Good friends. Best of friends even. Moon and stars, always together, lighting up the night sky. Bucky’s parents grew fond of one another. Became friends. Came to love each other. 

But Bucky’s dreamed of more than fondness. He’s dreamed of love. Needs it. In the depth of his soul. Steve’s talked about love. Mentioned loving Peggy Carter. Sam Wilson. Bucky’s seen that love. Firsthand. In the way Sam’s name comes off his tongue, in the way he sees them sometimes after their run. Steve loves Sam. Loved Peggy. How can there be room to love Bucky?

 _But what if he does end up loving you?_ His heart asks.

After all, down the hall is a man who cares if he says bad things about himself. Who hits Brock Rumlow for him. Who says perfect things. Who lines roads with bricks of trust. Brick. Brick. Brick. 

_But what if… what if he’s using you?_

Bucky doesn’t know what’s asking that. Why that cruel, vindictive voice chooses now to show up.

“He won’t. He said so.”

The thought’s back though. Feathered along the edge of all the newer, warmer sensations going through him. There to put walls back up. Inch by inch by inch. Walls that Steve helped him take down. Lower, at any rate. Bucky’s vulnerable, yes. Exposed, yes. Scared, yes. But he’s felt better this morning than he has all month. Better this morning than he has since his father died. He doesn’t want that to go away.

Hands tremble. Bucky lifts them to see, earlier panic coming back, rising and growing. Bubbles inside. 

_Go ask him._ Hands tell him.  
 _I’m going to irritate him._

But he did say Bucky could. As often as he needed to. Bucky looks back at Steve’s note. He doesn’t want to hide it away again. A visual reminder. Always. Steve’s first promise. Instead of putting it back in the drawer, Bucky puts it in the corner of the mirror on the vanity. 

His reflection looks back at him. Same nose, same lips, same cheekbones--a little two narrow, he’s always thought--same eyes--Steve likes his eyes. Still, there’s something different about it. So different Bucky can hardly recognize it. 

_In love, maybe?_

Too soon. No. Something close. An acquaintance. Neighbor down the block. Polite exchanges of friendly hellos and light, casual conversations. Not love. Definitely not love. 

That ‘what if’ rings out again. _What if he’s using you?_ And Bucky rushes out of the room. He needs to ask Steve. Hear his reassurance. The words from his voice, the comfort in his eyes, on his face. Bucky believes him when he says it. 

Only at first glance, Steve’s bedroom seems empty save for the two trays of breakfast on the trolley by the bed. Bucky just stands in the doorway, momentarily heartbroken as he fights back tears. He doesn’t want these walls to come back up. He’s pushing them down, pushing hard against them, but they’re growing. Up, up, up. Until Steve appears. Coming out of the restroom, buttoning the cuff of his shirt. And the walls stop. Right where they are. Like magic.

Bucky watches for a moment, Steve crossing the room, oblivious to his husband just standing there. Looks like he’s having trouble with the button on his sleeve and when he gets it, he smiles to himself, proud of his simple accomplishment. His eyes glance up in Bucky’s direction. Double takes and officially Steve knows he’s there.

“Hi!” He’s happy to see him again, Bucky thinks. “I was just going to get you.” Steve comes over. “Breakfast is… what’s wrong?”

Steve’s face has fallen and he’s stopped a few feet away, maintained a bit of distance as though worried coming too close might not be what Bucky wants. He can see Bucky’s apprehension already. Knows it’s there. How does he do that?

“I…” Bucky sighs. Why can’t he give this man what he deserves? Sunshine and life, wrapped up in strength and tenderness. Patient and kind. And he’s stuck with winter. Endless winter; unforgiving winds and ice eternal. “Can I ask you again, Steve?”  
“Ah…” A smile, patience and understanding forms on his husband’s mouth. He nods. “Yes. Go ahead. Ask me, Bucky.”  
“You’re not… you don’t want me for anything, right? Don’t want to use me?”  
“I just want to make you happy. You and me. Us. Together.”

Bucky nods, accepting that answer. Breaths ragged, he’s not precisely crying, but he’s not truly okay either, so when Steve asks what’s wrong, he doesn’t have a real answer for him. 

“What happened, Bucky?” He wonders. “Did I do something wrong? Say too much? Ask too much of you?”  
“No!” Bucky exclaims. He doesn’t want Steve to ever feel unnecessary guilt over their marriage again. He’s caused enough of that already. “No, Steve, you’ve been wonderful. I… I don’t know. I just… overwhelmed maybe?”  
“Okay. Alright. Tell me… what do you need me to do? Anything? Are you cold? You want some water? Food? Just tell me.”

Bucky peers up at him. There’s nothing but concern all over his face. It’s all over him. Hunched in his shoulders, in the hands he’s ringing out. Concern for him.

“I think… a hug? Maybe?”

That makes Steve smile. And Bucky, despite the wreck he feels himself become, really does love Steve’s smiles. 

“Of course.”

Steve, being Steve, doesn’t just open his arms and let his arms welcome Bucky into them, though Bucky would gladly fling himself over if he did. No, Steve doesn’t make him do any work at all. Instead, he takes those few extra steps himself, puts his arms slowly first around Bucky, then squeezes him inside of them. Comforting, a slow, gradual reminder that he’s Steve’s and Steve’s his. Steve will take care of him. Not an empty promise. One said only to gain his own selfish desires and discard Bucky at the earliest convenience. Steve means this and Bucky breathes out relief again. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, mouth pressed just below the crook of Steve’s throat. “I shouldn’t keep…”  
“Don’t.” Steve interrupts, his voice taking on that authoritative tone and making Bucky feel that sinking sensation run throughout his entire body again. “I told you, you can ask whenever you need. Okay?”  
“Yes.” Bucky responds automatically. “Okay.”

His husband’s hand runs up and down his back a few times. Chin just touching the top of Bucky’s head, Steve says, “You feel a little bit better now?”

“Yes, husband. Thank you.” He does, too. Much better. Because Steve’s done the thing. Right words, right touch. Perfect. Not in the literal sense of the word. No one can be that perfect. But close enough. So far anyway. For Bucky. One little problem at the moment, and it makes itself known with the little noise. Bucky’s stomach decides it no longer wants to be ignored. _Remember me?_ “Can we eat now?” Bucky asks. “I don’t think my stomach is very pleased with me.”

 _No. I’m not._ It agrees.  
 _Okay, okay. Sheesh._

“Oh, sure.” Steve chuckles. “I’m sorry. I guess I should feed my husband, huh?”  
“That would be nice.” Bucky agrees, untangling their bodies and lacing their fingers. He tugs Steve towards the bed. “We can still have breakfast in bed, right? Even though we’re dressed?”  
“Um… yes?” He can hear Steve clear his throat with a fake cough. “I mean yes. Uh. If you want.”

Bucky glances over his shoulder. There’s two arms worth of distance between them as he takes Steve back over to the bed, and his husband’s eyes are glued to their fingers. Intertwined. It takes Bucky’s brain a second longer to register why Steve must be staring. Silver plates, overlapping, even, symmetric, a perfect tool crafted and fit for just for Bucky himself. Shaped into long, lean fingers, easily moveable, so much so that it has simply become an extension of his body. Metal fingers. They’re laced with pink, flesh ones. Made of muscle and bones. The contrast is actually quite lovely. Steve’s fingers are big and muscular, natural, real. Bucky’s are thin and lean, shimmer in the sunlight. 

But Steve might not be seeing beauty when he looks down at their hands. He might only feel the hardness of it. Might feel the cold metal. For all Bucky knows, the metal is too cold at the moment. Skin caught between plates, as does happen from time to time. Rare, very rare, but can happen. 

“Does…” The sorrow shows up in that one word. “Does that bother you?” 

Steve blinks his gaze away from their hands and seems to wake from a dream. 

“What?”  
“My… arm? Does it…”  
“Your arm?” Haze lifts from Steve in an instant and he catches up to where Bucky is. He suddenly looks horrified. “No! Oh… shit. Bucky, no, no… I’m sorry, I didn’t… it wasn’t that… it was…” He lifts their hands, still together, “You just… did that…”  
“Did that? What?” 

When Steve glances back down, Bucky gets it. It’s not his arm. But it is. He took Steve’s hand, with his left hand like it was nothing. Bucky’s always been guarded about his left arm, from shoulder to fingertips, and Steve picked up on that from moment one, careful to remember to keep to Bucky’s right. Last night, when Bucky offered his left hand to help keep Steve calm and comforted as they made their way through the reporters and the initial crowd, his husband was honored. Now that the fog has cleared, Steve looks positively thrilled. 

His husband holds his own hand out towards Bucky’s neck, right by that spot he seems to favor between shoulder and throat.

“May I?”  
Bucky smiles. “Yes. I did tell you you don’t have to ask anymore.”  
“Right.” Steve grins. “My touches. You like them.”  
“That I do, husband.” He says as Steve does touch him, making his heart beat faster and stomach flip happily. “Now come feed me before I starve.”

Steve laughs as he continues letting Bucky tow him back to the bed. They both take a tray each and climb back into the bed, dressed and all. First thing Bucky does, as he’s been doing since as long as he’s been old enough to feed himself, is put his cloth napkin down across his lap. He pauses before he goes any further with his breakfast routine when he realizes that Steve’s napkin isn’t in his lap. It’s moved off to the side of his plate. His husband is holding his fork in left hand, cutting into his waffles--Bucky has to admit, Truvie makes excellent waffles--with his knife. Then he puts the knife down, puts the fork into his right hand and scoops his food up like that. 

Bucky looks back at his food and grimaces. That’s not how he eats. He’s never noticed before either. There’s no way Steve hasn’t. Their table etiquette is different. For one, fleeting moment, a heartbeat, just a breath, Bucky sulks. He needs to unlearn what he knows. Learn a new way of doing this. Of how to eat. That’s just the start. No need to be a baby about it. He has Steve. His husband. Who makes him feel warm. Who cares if he says bad things about himself. Who punches Brock Rumlow for him. 

“Okay, husband.” He announces. Steve stops mid-chew to look at him. “What’do I do?”  
Steve swallows before answering. “What?”  
“Well…” He gestures to his meal and place setting. “I need to learn the House’s etiquette, right?”  
“Oh.” His husband doesn’t look to sure about this. Steve is funny that way. One minute completely sure of himself. Confident. Fearless even. The next, nervous. Public-Steve, almost. “Um. I mean… you don’t… we’ve gone over a lot. Are you sure?”  
Bucky nods. “Yes. I’m sure, Steve.”  
“Well, okay.” He grins at him, walks his hand across the bed and snatches the napkin off his lap. “First of all, you keep your napkin where you can use it. You’re a _grown_ up.” He teases. “Can’t you be trusted to keep food off your lap?”

Steve waves the napkin in Bucky’s face and Bucky can’t help but laugh at his jesting. He takes it from him, forcing both an pout and an indignant huff. 

“Well, _excuse_ me.” He plays back, grabbing the cloth back to fold it and put it down like Steve’s, only one heartbeat of a moment worrying that he might not be able to play like this with his husband. But Steve’s already granted him such liberties on more than one occasion. Appreciates, even welcomes, Bucky’s humor. “ _Some_ Houses take a more traditional approach to things.”

Steve chuckles, like Bucky thought he would, and secretly hoped for, because his chuckles, snickers, laughs and giggles are musical. Better even than his smiles. 

“Put your toppings on.” He instructs. “I know you’re going to soak the food in syrup.” Bucky chews his lip, doing as he’s told, asking, “That’s still okay?” “Sure it is.” Steve assures. “Pick up your fork with your left hand and the knife with your right. Cut your food.”  
“Okay.”

Bucky starts doing that, cuts into his meal and without thinking about it, just goes to eat the piece he’s just cut.

“Wait!” Steve stops him before the food gets to his mouth. Bucky freezes with his mouth open. His husband hesitates, but takes the fork from his left hand. “Put your knife down, at the corner of the plate.” Bucky looks at the knife still in his right hand before doing that. Steve hands the fork over, placing it in Bucky’s right hand. “Turn it around so that the tines are upward. You can put your left hand in your lap. Go on.” Steve folds in a smile. Must see the confusion going on in Bucky’s head. “You can eat now.”

“Um… okay…”

He does. Places the food on his tongue. Chews, swallows. Then stares at his plate for a moment, helpless. Bucky has no idea how to get anymore food the new proper way. He glances up at Steve, eyes and lips pleading. 

Steve’s holding in a laugh. Bucky can see it growing larger as his face tenses more and more with his attempt to keep it back. Then he lets it go as though he can’t help himself. Can’t contain it any longer. It takes him completely, rocks his whole body. Bucky’s never seen his husband laugh like this. Unreserved. His face is red and he’s trying to suck in more air, making a sort of squeaking sound as he does. Eyes sparkling and bright and Bucky wants to kiss him, but he can’t. The laugh is much too infectious. Seeps into Bucky’s body and takes hold of him.

Laughter. Bucky remembers this. Remembers fully body shakes and soar sides and aches in his cheeks. All from laughing. Hard enough to squeeze tears from his eyes. Comfortable enough that he leans into his husband’s side, laughs even more into Steve’s flushed skin, and gets an arm wrapped around him. 

Bucky’s sure he wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, everyone! I'm sorry there's only one chapter this week. Things have been a bit hectic around here and I didn't get to work on this as much as I would have liked. Doesn't help that I have _so_ many different works firing away in my head. But this remains top priority! So even though it's only one chapter I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> This week's visuals include:
> 
> Bucky by himself in his room
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> Laughing at the end with Steve
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> Steve knowing something is wrong when Bucky comes back to the bedroom
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>  
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> Steve's attempt, and failure, to not laugh
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>  
> 
> So there you have it! Thanks for reading and I hope to see you next week! :D


	13. Unlucky Thirteen

His husband sighs over his papers. Bucky looks up from the book in his lap, pulled out of Gatsby’s party by the sound of Steve’s distress, soft as it may be. There’s tension on his face, in the furrow between his eyes as they scan the files he’s looking over. Steve is usually done with his work day by the time Bucky gets back from his. Not this week. This week, Steve’s let his work consume him. Mind needing to be distracted. He’s even gone straight downstairs after supper twice. Apologized both time when he emerged, black ink smudged in the crevices of his fingers once. Bucky’s not sure why he was apologizing, but Steve seemed to need comfort, so Bucky hugged him; told him it was fine.

Steve shuts his eyes and files, and leans back in his chair, head tilted upward. He heaves forward again and drags the newspaper that’s sitting off to the side of his desk to the middle of it. Bucky wishes he could speak up. Say something. That damn print has been taunting Steve all week. He doesn’t want his husband to read it again. He might be able to now speak up. Deal struck when asking Steve if he could join him in the library when he works late. Yes, but he must keep quiet while he works. Steve’s not working now, not technically. He’s torturing himself with that article. Bucky wants to tell him not to worry, assure him that everything’ll be fine. Even if he’s permitted to do so now, Bucky’s not sure how to do that. This is a serious matter, or, if it isn’t now, most definitely can be one. For both of them. The words, strung together in black and white, printed and mass produced to Society and below of all of New York, already ruined this week. Ruined might be a little much. Dampened it, though.

Not like last week. Starting with that first sweet, laugh-filled morning. 

By the time the both of them had settled down enough, after twice calming a little and succumbing all over again, their food was nearly cold. Halfway through chilled waffles and caked syrup, Bucky started getting the hang of eating by House Rogers’ tradition. Enough that Steve didn’t need to supervise like a hawk.

Steve showed him correct silverware placement for resting between bites and what each position meant; how to ask for seconds without having to disturb conversation and to compliment the chef. 

“I don’t expect you to remember all this today.” Steve chuckled as Bucky struggled to place his knife and fork in the right place to indicate that he was done with the meal--side by side, both angled to the left. “We’ll practice.”

Some of the House Rogers’ etiquette is similar to that of the House Barnes’. No elbows on the table, pat with the napkin, never wipe unless officially done with the meal, sit up straight. Maintaining a proper posture was something Bucky’s mother had stressed when he was growing up. That’s all just breakfast. There’ll be so much more to learn for dinner. Steps. Bucky knows Steve will give him that. One step at a time.

“There’s one thing…” Steve mentioned that morning as they were putting their empty trays back on the trolley. “But it… y’know never mind…”  
“No, what?” Bucky pressed. If he’s going to do this, he knows he wants to go all in. Bucky doesn’t want to quit half through. “What is it?”  
“It’s just… I don’t know if it’s part of the House Barnes’ etiquette, but…” He cleared his throat, pulled a bit at his collar. “Well, during conversations, we’re supposed to keep our wrists,” He held his up like Bucky needed a demonstration, “Up against the table’s edge. Um. I’ve noticed when you talk, you, uh, you lower your left hand.”

Bucky glanced down at the perpetrator. Left hand he’s always kept hidden when at the table. Not out of custom or tradition. He hides it. Always has. Just second nature now.

“Oh.”  
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Steve told him. “No one in the House is going to be bothered by it…”  
“No.” Bucky interrupted. “Other Houses who know your customs might be.” If ever they might be in the House Pierce or House Rumlow company, Bucky needs no need to give them any reason to suspect Steve’s headship isn’t what it ought to be. “We’ll practice you said. Um. Maybe, out? Maybe we can go out to dinner? Be around people?”  
“You’d be okay with that?”

Honestly, Bucky wasn’t sure. So he told Steve that. It’s what his husband, his headship, wants.

“I don’t know. We can try?”  
Steve nodded. “Try. That’s good enough for me. Like I said. It’s fine with me, and it’ll be fine with the rest of the House if you discard that one little thing. They’ll understand.”

The rest of their days had been filled with easier talks, lighter conversations than the ones before the night of the club. Things were… different. Freer, the only word Bucky has for it. He can speak to Steve, tell him things. About his day at work, greet him with an easy smile. Good mornings and how was your days. 

They had taken a walk the following Sunday, a stroll through the park. Scents of autumn still fresh in the air, leaves curled and crunchy on the ground. Weather friendly enough that coats were kept open, Bucky’s scarf hung loose around his neck. There was quiet conversation. 

“Will you teach me to sign more?” Steve asked. “So I can speak to Lord Barton?”  
Bucky had laughed. “Lord Barton. Don’t call him that. He hates it. And yes. I’d love to.” His husband smiled. Agreed to not call Clint, Lord Barton and thanked him. “How many languages will that make it?”  
“What?”  
“If I teach you to sign. How many languages will you then know?”

His cheeks burned. So did the rest of his face, all the way up to the tips of his ears. Bucky can make his husband blush.

“In addition to English? That’ll make it five.”  
“Five?” Bucky chuckled and poked a bit at Steve’s side. Laughed out loud when his husband jerked from the touch and stared at him. Puzzled and confused. “Just making sure you don’t have metal parts somewhere, too. Maybe you really _are_ a machine.”

Steve scoffed through a smile, swung an arm over Bucky’s shoulder.

“You’ll still teach me?”  
“Yeah. You speak three other languages already?”

He’d seen the books in other languages in Steve’s library, but never came out and asked about it. 

Steve noded. “German, Russian, and French.”  
“Вы говорите по-русски?”  
His husband glanced down at him, face pleasantly surprised. “Yes, I speak Russian. I didn’t know you did.”  
It was Bucky’s turn to blush. “Father taug… or, um, Lord Barnes taught me. Will you teach me French?”  
“Your father.” Steve corrected. “You want to learn French?”

Steve had given him a look. Teasing, like maybe he wouldn’t teach him after all. So Bucky pushed his lip out and leaned his head against Steve’s arm, holding on to it as they walked. Said, “Please?”

Steve chuckled, head tilted back like Bucky’s ‘illegal look’ as he liked to call them, amused him.

“On va voir.” He had murmured into Bucky’s ear.

What Bucky hadn’t expected, again, from Steve, but really, maybe he should just start expecting the unexpected, was feeling his body react to hearing Steve speaking French. It warmed. It tingled. He was dizzy, lightheaded, and aroused. Incredibly aroused. Enough so that he buried his face in Steve’s side to ignore the feeling in his stomach that was spreading between his legs. 

Neither of them could have anticipated what was waiting for them back at Steve’s place. The paper’s always there, though the Sunday edition is something that’s still considered new. A luxury only those in Society are privileged enough to have. It’s what was _in_ the paper. The leisure section to be specific. 

It wasn’t surprising to see them featured after a club opening. A few snapshots of them, hands held, both smiling--if Bucky didn’t know how nervous Steve had been, he’d never be able to tell by the photographs alone. One of them kissing. Some quotes from Bucky. The one from Steve. They’re Society’s hottest newly weds. A good chance they will be for the next year or so. There’s Clint and Talia’s wedding, but that won’t garnish nearly as much attention. Good thing. Talia doesn’t like the attention. No, being featured in the paper wasn’t all that shocking. It was one of the articles that hit Steve and hit him hard. 

Bucky watched his husband’s face pale and fall as he read it. Steve’s lips moved along as he read and reread it. It took a few minutes before he finally let Bucky see it too. He knew immediately what was wrong. Headline alone gave it away. 

**Headship Doomed in House Rogers?**

Stomach clenched, Bucky read through it once, quickly absorbing the words that already had his husband pacing the room. It was a short article, really just a blurb in the collective pieces surrounding it, but it’s enough to start a domino effect if not handled delicately. Long and short of it was that it claimed several sources close to the new married couple say that Steve is doing nothing to lead the relationship, that Bucky is running the House--their speculation that this might be true is that Bucky was the one to answer most of the questions rather than Steve--and to further prove that Steve doesn’t have what it takes to lead, there was a very tall-taled version of what happened between Steve and Brock, conveniently without any mention of Brock. 

Steve Rogers out of control. Lost his temper. Started a fight. No wonder he’d been so hurt when Bucky had accused him of the same thing. He _does_ get accused of it. There were a few conflicting stories, eyewitnesses telling a more accurate version of what happened, but damage has been done. Compliments of Brock no doubt. His own way of getting back at them for what transpired between them all. There was even a quote from Alexander Pierce.

“It’s none too surprising. With all the changes to Society the House of Rogers is either actively trying to bring about,” That was a direct jab at Steve’s parents since they work in the government, “or is in full support of bringing about, it isn’t any wonder that the youngest member of the House, young Lord Rogers, is unable to uphold and maintain the tradition of being a strong and stable headship to his new family.”

Bucky had kept his head down for a while after he read the blurb. Didn’t want to see the worry on Steve that had surely grown since he’d taken to pacing. Time needed to go on though. Looking down at the words wasn’t going to change that. 

“Steve?” He’d murmured when he finally glanced up and saw Steve with his back to him. 

His husband was at the fireplace, wrists up against the edge of the mantle and head lowered like it was just too heavy for him to keep up. 

“That man’s had it out for our House for years.” He muttered.

_Our House._

Steve includes Bucky when he says things like that. Still does. He includes Bucky in his life, his House, as part of his family like second nature. Doesn’t even think about it. 

Bucky watches his husband as he stretches his neck. The cloud chairs in the library really do feel like clouds. Suck him into them like air and comfort incarnate. Steve looks uncomfortable in his own chair. It’s large, accommodating to Steve’s size, leather bound, and sighs happily whenever anyone sits on it. Steve still looks uncomfortable. He’s been giving Bucky smiles all week. Though they haven’t shared a bed every night, a few times Bucky just needed that space and know it’s still available--a place of his own--Steve shares a smile for him each and every morning. Sees him off to work with a smile. Greets him when he returns with a smile. Will smile for Bucky now if he knew he was looking. 

World’s on his shoulders and Steve is still sharing smiles. Bucky likes Steve’s smiles, but he just doesn’t think it’s right for him to feel the need to smile when he doesn’t want to. Steve likes to please people, Bucky’s figured that much out. Doesn’t want to let anyone down. He’s worrying now. A worry for so many things. One for his House. One for his parents. One for his position, and not because it’s his, but for those he helps through it. One maybe for Bucky. None for himself. Bucky is sure of it. Steve forgets to worry for himself. Is maybe too stubborn to worry for himself. 

Pushing the paper away, Steve gives himself a breather from the cruel, taunting words that won’t leave him alone. Big hands smother his face, and Steve lets out another sigh into them. As he lowers them, his eyes catch Bucky’s. Just like Bucky assumed, Steve smiles.

“Hey there, you.” He says as though just remembering his husband is here and feeling comforted by it. Bucky feels heat coil in his belly at such a sweet greeting. “What’re you reading?”  
Bucky grins and raises the book. “Fitzgerald.”  
“Ah. Have you read it?”  
“Yes.” He nods. “Several times.”

Looks like Steve wants to say something. Changes his mind. Goes with another smile and decides to open a file again. Bucky’s shoulders fall. His husband is nervous, rightfully so, because of the plan they’ve come up with to counter the article; Bucky’s idea. The thought probably makes Steve even more anxious than the blur itself. Involves being in the spotlight. An interview. 

Bucky had no doubt Steve had been getting requests from day one of their marriage to do interviews. So now he, they’ve, accepted. Photoshoots, separate and together, people asking questions. Tomorrow. Steve says these aren’t as bad. Time to prepare and all, but Bucky can see this is all taking it’s toll on him. 

Hunched over his desk, Steve rubs at his shoulders a bit, eyes straining, sunlight blinking in and out of them. Slow and quiet, so as not to disturb his husband, Bucky rises out of the chair. It lets him, reluctantly, its comfort always hard to leave. Book in hand, he goes to the shelves behind Steve’s desk, pretends to be putting it away. He stands there for a moment, just watching Steve, his back and neck tense. 

Bucky’s been told to keep quiet, asked by his husband, as his headship, not to disturb him while he’s working. He’s supposed to be obedient to him when asked for things like that. He knows it. Knows what he’s about to do might, _just might_ , earn him an actual reprimand. The thought makes his breath catch. Deep in his gut, he really doesn’t think Steve will mind. Rule two. Tell him if he’s making a mistake, doing something stupid. This isn’t smart. Steve’s overworking himself. 

Fingers tremble. Bucky takes in a deep breath and slowly lowers his hands down onto Steve’s shoulders. Has only a second to rub thumbs into his husband’s muscles before Steve jerks away. Startled. Startles Bucky right back, enough that he yanks his hands away. Holds them to his chest. Steve’s staring at him, eyes wide, surprised. 

“I…” 

Bucky’s not sure what to say. No words really. So he just slowly reaches back out and puts his hands down again. Steve is still twisted towards him, but once Bucky gains enough courage to really start pressing his fingers into his skin, kneading them firmly but gently, expert and precise, he relaxes into his touch and straightens back around. 

After a few minutes, with Bucky working his way up and down his back, returning to his shoulders, Steve leans into the different ways his hands move and soft hums escape his lips. Once he’s sure his husband is more comfortable, relaxed, opened up to listening and hearing Bucky out, he keeps massaging with his right hand, but leans over Steve with his left, closes the file on the desk and actually drops the newspaper in the wastebasket next to the desk. 

He’s about to bring his hand back to Steve’s shoulder again, but before he can, Steve holds his own out. Asking for Bucky’s. He doesn’t take Bucky’s left hand without knowing it’s okay, even with blanket permission to touch. Bucky obliges. Steve kisses his knuckles. Bucky might not be able to feel it, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling something inside. No one’s ever done that. 

“Rule two?” Steve whispers.  
Bucky rests his cheek in his hair. “Mm. Rule two.”

Steve nods, raises a hand to the cheek not laying on him. Soft palm runs softly against Bucky’s skin, making eyes flutter closed. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.”  
“S’not your fault. Lots to deal with.” Bucky straightens up. Resumes rubbing Steve’s back. “But we’re taking care of it. You’ll be okay. I’ll be there with you.” He rattles his head. Cheeks burn. “I mean, um, I don’t know if that… helps or…”  
“It helps.” Steve says, putting a hand on top of Bucky’s. “It helps a lot, knowing you’ll be there.” His husband sighs and tugs Bucky’s hand closer so that he can rest it against his own cheek. Steve’s not shaved in a few days. There’s a slight beard growing in. Light facial hair that comes quick. Bucky’s not sure what’s more appealing. Clean shaven or stubble. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted, Bucky. I…”

Steve trails off suddenly. Gasps. Leaps from the chair. Enough that Bucky needs to back away to avoid being knocked over. 

“What…”  
“Holy shit!” He exclaims. High pitched. Almost screeching. “Bucky! Get it out of here!”  
“Steve? What?”  
Steve gets behind him. Points to the desk. “Bucky!”

He’s waiting for something to happen. A fire. Weapons to pop out of the of the top of the desk. A dragon even. Nothing happens though. Steve is still behind him, pointing his finger and insisting that Bucky do something. He takes a step forward. Measured, calculated. Cautious and prepared for something, and then raises his eyebrows. On the desk, smaller than the nail on his pinky finger, is a spider.

“Are you talking about the spider, Steve?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder.

His husband isn’t looking though. Has his eyes hidden away from the eight legged creature of mass destruction. 

“Please just get it out of here, Bucky.” He whimpers.  
Bucky holds in a chuckle. “Okay, okay, husband. Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”

Bucky doesn’t have the heart to kill it. It’s nearing the end of November. Doesn’t have much longer to live anyway. So he scoops it onto his left hand, gently closes long fingers around it and goes to the window to let it free. When he turns back around, he finds Steve hovered over his desk, hands braced at nearly two corners. Head’s down.

There’s a laugh rising inside Bucky’s chest. He doesn’t want to let it out. Not if his husband is bothered by what just happened. Bucky can’t help finding the situation humorous though. There’s something at least mildly funny about a person even bigger than him, and Bucky is not a small man, screeching over something he could easily crush with one finger. 

He slides one foot forward, taking one large step. Brings himself halfway there. The movement alone is enough to make Steve turn his head towards him. The expression on his face is one of the most pathetic looks Bucky has ever seen in his life. Big weepy eyes, lips somewhere between pouty, pleading and laughing. Mix of all three. It’s enough to give Bucky the permission to laugh. 

“Oh, Steve…” He says before it escapes.

Steve lets out a whiney sort of noise and collapses back into his chair. He covers his face. Not quick enough. Bucky still gets the chance to see how red it gets before it’s hidden out of sight. 

“I know, I know,” Steve mumbles into his palms. “I’m pathetic.”  
“No, no,” Bucky laughs as he rubs his shoulders again. “Quite the contrary. I think you’re positively adorable, husband.”

Mouth and tongue acting on their own again. Not letting Bucky decide when words his brain comes up with should be shared with the world or not. His face heats up when Steve glances over his shoulder to look at him again. 

“You do?” His husband asks softly. Hints of teasing even. Mostly flattered. Definitely flattered.  
“I…” Throat needs to be cleared. Blocked by too many things. Unfamiliar emotions. Deep-seated needs that have started to grow in the secrets of nighttime dreams, nurtured by his husband and headship. “Well… you had to have some weakness.”  
Steve licks his lips. “I thought my weakness would have been obvious.”  
“What?”

His husband reaches behind him, takes Bucky by the wrist. Strong shackle, warm hand around his skin, and brings him around the chair. Bucky’s leaned up against the desk and Steve stands.

“Weaknesses?” Steve murmurs. He close enough that Bucky can feel the heat coming from his body. Wonders if Steve can feel the heat beginning to boil inside his own. “I think maybe you have the advantage, Bucky. I know one of yours is chocolate. But you now know two of mine.”  
“Two?” Does he mean… _him_? “Oh.” Steve’s done the thing. Again. Perfect words. “Steve…” 

There are no butterflies this time. Only heat. Coiling around bones and muscles. Making knees weak and lips quiver. Steve has permission to touch and uses that permission now whenever he can. It scares Bucky sometimes. Not Steve. Steve touching doesn’t frighten him. Trust. It’s the trust that he’s found in his husband. So much, so fast. Makes his heart pound, head spin, breaths catch. 

Steve moves the back of his fingers across Bucky’s cheek. A soft, breath of a touch. He turns it, hand cupping his cheek, thumb running along the very edge of his lip. Presses slightly, just enough for Bucky to feel, for his body to react. His husband’s eyes are focused on his mouth, on the lips he’s touching. Mouth whimpers. No, Bucky whimpers. Quiet sound, carried on the wind.

 _Ask him for a kiss_. His lips plead.  
 _He’ll ask. He will_. 

Steve will. He won’t move in without asking first. Bucky trusts him not to. Has Steve’s spoken promise. His husband’s lips part, mouth open just slightly. He swallows. Bucky watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He’s going to ask to kiss him. He just has to. Bucky’ll burst if he doesn’t soon. 

“Truvie will have supper ready soon.”  
“Yes.” Bucky breathes. Leans forward for that kiss. Realizes immediately Steve’s not said what he was hoping to hear. “Wait, what?”  
Steve moves away. Takes his hand with him. “Supper’ll ready soon.”  
“I… what?”

Bucky doesn’t understand what just happened. He was sure Steve would ask for a kiss. Could see the burning in his eyes. Fire so close to him. Has he done something wrong? Is Steve angry with him? Maybe for disturbing him? 

“Steve?”  
“Go downstairs. I’ll be down shortly.”

Steve’s next to him now, focused again on one of his files. Bucky stares up at him, mouth agape, hanging open like it wants to form words and has forgotten how. Eyebrows knit, he shakes his head once before pushing off the desk and heading for the door. 

Confusion’s wrapped uncomfortable blankets around him. Makes it hard to think straight. Bucky’s not sure how to feel at the moment. He looks back to see that tension all over his husband again. One emotion he’s sure of.

“Rule two, Steve. Don’t look at the paper. Promise me?”  
Steve peers up through his lashes, long and thick. “I promise.”

Bucky nods. Not truly satisfied, but it’s all he can really get. He leaves. Lost. Rejected. Even though he made no such request that could have possibly been rejected. Bucky didn’t ask for the kiss he so desperately wanted. He’d been waiting for Steve to ask for it. Was sure he wanted to ask for it. Then didn’t. Steve was sucked right back into his anxiety, his nerves. Shut himself off with Bucky right there. Bucky’s not sure if he wants to scream or cry.

He’s made his way downstairs, though he’s not quite sure how. Truvie’s in the kitchen. Salmon tonight. Steve’s favorite. To soothe nerves for tomorrow. 

“Do you need any help, Truvie?” Bucky asks.  
“Not truly, m’Lord,” she replies as she bustles about the stove. “But if you’d like, you can set the table.” 

He grins, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes, and goes to the cabinets to fetch the dinnerware. Bucky listens to the fish sizzling in the pan. The pop, pop, pop, of the cooking oils and marinades that he’d used too much of when he tried to make the meal. He puts Steve’s plate down where it belongs and stares at it. It stares back at him. Doesn’t tell him what he wishes to know.

“Truvie?”  
“Yes, Lord Barnes?”  
“Did… did my husband mention anything about,” Bucky’s voice drops, feels weaker, “being angry with me?”

He’s fiddling with the silverware, pushing the end of the fork at the place setting back and forth even though it’s already straight. Something to do, occupy his fingers and eyes. Truvie is looking at him. He can feel her gaze.

“If Lord Rogers was angry with you, he’d tell you, sir.” She assures him.  
He twists his lips. Nods. “Okay.”  
“It’s not you, m’Lord.”  
Bucky glances over at her. “What?”  
“The way he’s behaving. Today especially. It’s not you. He’s scared. Nervous. Doesn’t want to let you down.”  
“Me?”  
“That’s right. He’s less worried about what’s going to happen to him, and more worried about what’ll happen to _you_ if tomorrow goes sour.” Truvie flips fish over and keeps talking. “If there was a way for him to take care of this without having to involve you at all, he’d do it.”  
“But… he doesn’t like doing interviews.”  
“That’s right he doesn’t. But he likes you more than he doesn’t like doing interviews.”

Bucky sighs. If that’s true, if Steve’s concern for him indeed outweighs his own anxieties, then Bucky just feels quite cheated. 

“Why won’t he talk to me about it?” He asks. “Why won’t he let me help him?”  
“Like you always let him do for you?”  
“I…” Point taken. “But I’ve… been doing better? Haven’t I?” Bucky groans. “I’ve been trying.”  
“Yes.” Truvie agrees. “Lord Rogers doesn’t expect you to change overnight, to simply open up and share every thought inside your head, sir. But you still close off, clam up in the middle of your sentences, sigh to yourself, look angry sometimes. Still have your things in boxes like you’re expecting to move out of here sometime soon.” Bucky feels his face pinch together. Disgruntled. And here he thought he’d been doing so well. Truvie says, “That’s not unusual, m’Lord. You’re still only getting to know one another. And now _you’ve_ stumbled upon one of Lord Rogers’ walls.”

“So… what should I do, Truvie?”  
“I’m afraid I can’t really help you with that m’Lord.” She says. “But, what does Lord Rogers usually do for you when you feel like he does?”

Steve? His husband? He does his thing. Perfect words. The right tone, the right touch. Nearly every time. Even when he doesn’t, he finds some way to make things right. Not Bucky. He says wrong words. Never does the right thing. Makes Steve feel bad. Reminds him this wasn’t his choice without meaning to.

_Maybe you don’t need words. His fingers says. He did ask…_  
 _I can’t… I…_

He hadn’t meant to tell him about the piano. But he had. Slipped out. During a late night chat. A few moments when Steve wasn’t riddled with being concerned with the article and the impending interviews. One of the few nights they shared his bed. Legs tangled. Fire throwing a warm glow across them, Bucky wrapped in Steve’s arms.

“How long have you played the piano?” Bucky just asked it, lazy and comfortable.  
“Oh I don’t. I pay for a musician.”  
“I could teach you if you want.”  
“You can… do you play?”

It wasn’t until Steve asked his question that Bucky realized what he’d said. Eyes wide, he wanted to take it back. Never wanted anyone who didn’t already know to know. Didn’t want to explain.

“I… no. I mean… I… did… before… I…”  
“It’s okay, Bucky.” He hugged him to his chest. “I understand.” Steve lowered his lips to the side of his neck. “Can I kiss you?” Bucky nodded. Steve’s mouth touched him. Soft, but long, lingering. “I would love to hear you play though. Do you think… maybe one day?”

Bucky’s first thought was no. Never. He wasn’t meant to play again. It wasn’t like he was a master at the instrument, but he could entertain his parents’ friends. Made them smile and dance at their dinner parties. Just enough talent to say he could play, skillful with some of the most expert pieces, but not enough skill to compose the music himself. Perfect for Society. Just the right sort of mind. But with Steve asking him, it was different. He almost wanted to play for him. To see what he would think. Maybe his metal fingers wouldn’t make the mess of the notes he was afraid of making. 

“I… I don’t know, husband.” He whispered. “I…”  
“No, that’s okay.” Steve assured him. “If you’re not comfortable don’t even worry about it. But listen, if you ever do,” He had leaned in close to his ear. Murmured softly, “We’ll have a whole dinner of chocolate, okay?”

Tears fill Bucky’s eyes at the thought of it. Of Steve’s sweetness. Of the nerves that bubble inside of him now as he stares at the ivory keys in front of him. He rings his hands out. It’s been more than a decade since he’s last touched a piano, let alone went to play one. 

Fingertips run over the cool, long pieces. Right hand testing. They feel the same. Memories triggered. He knows this. Can feel the notes and melodies run through his fingers. Simple, nothing too complex yet. 

_Let us try._ His left fingers beg. _Please._  
 _Don’t mess up. Okay? This is for Steve._

There’s no feeling there when he puts them onto the keys, but they’re still happy when he does so. He presses those fingers down first. Soft, volume low. A basic scale. Left fingers move fluidly, a bit stiff, nervous. But they manage. No fumbling. Right hand joins. Perhaps he can do this. 

Bucky plays a tune, one quite fitting for Steve. Lets the volume grow, fill the room. Knows it’ll reach the rest of the rooms. 

~~

Steve’s promised Bucky he won’t look at the article again. So he won’t. That doesn’t mean he can’t stop thinking about it anyway. He’s trying hard not to. He really is and has been. All week. Steve has been smiling for his husband and holding conversations as best as he can. Polite. Friendly. Happy. Sometimes it works well. He can get lost in his husband’s charming words and endearing face. Those illegal looks of his. Especially with Bucky opening up so much more. Trying to anyway. 

Their talk the night of the club opening has done wonders. For both of them. Bucky has, for the most part, been a very different person. He brightens up when Steve comes around instead of closing in on himself. His husband isn’t so reluctant to touch back, takes his hand, an absent, familiar act of affection. Doesn’t even realize he does it until his eyes land upon their twined fingers. He’ll blush. Shy and bashful. He’ll talk to Steve like he enjoys talking to him. 

Steve feels a lot more confident in being Bucky’s headship now. The respect that he’s asked for, it’s present. In the way Bucky no longer takes his bad moods out on him. Early morning grogginess or inner fears that can’t possibly disappear after one over-due conversation and a few weeks of marriage? Bucky’s starting to speak up when he’s feeling these things. Less snapping, less hiding. He listens, when Steve tells him to do something. Sometimes he’s hesitant. Steve can see those underlying nerves Bucky spoke of in those tidal pools of his eyes. Struggles to bite back comments that might break that little rule he has. Followed the second rule just now.

But things need to go perfect tomorrow. If Steve messes up, if he says the wrong things, acts the wrong way, gives anyone any reason to doubt his ability to lead this marriage, their little bit of progress could be pulled apart before it goes any further. There are Houses that have been trying to force the House of Rogers out of Parliament for years. If Steve is unable to run his own household, what business does he ever have interpreting the laws that govern the people? 

Steve sighs again. Eyes scan the file that he hasn’t really been looking at since opening it. They slide to the wastebasket. Stare at the paper. He won’t take it out. He’s promised Bucky. A groan builds in his chest. Climbs out his throat. Thinking about Bucky, Steve’s fairly sure he just hurt his husband’s feelings. 

He saw the look in his eyes. Felt the rush of heat that surrounded them both just moments ago. It burned inside of him. Lips yearned to press against those plump and luscious ones just inches from his own. Steve denied himself. Pushed Bucky away. Walls of his own. Rapidly rising and blocking him off from the person he’s been slowly trying to gain the trust of. 

Fingers touch his lips. Not the feeling Steve wants there. He wants the feel of Bucky. Wants to feel those hands on his skin again, kneading just right into tense muscles. To have his husband murmur words of comfort, tell him everything is going to be okay, whispered lies of false hope or truths on the very breaths he believes in. He has no right to such a desire. This is his burden to carry. Steve is the head of the House. The responsibility falls on him. 

When he first hears the music, Steve thinks it’s the radio. Turned up loud. Just enough to reach the library, play for the books and pages of other worlds if they listen carefully enough. Maybe Bucky went into his room instead of going downstairs like he’d been told to. Stomach knots. If that’s the case, Steve needs to reprimand him. He did tell him to do something after all. But it only takes another moment for him to realize that it’s not the radio playing. The music is coming from downstairs. 

The piano. Soft notes. Circling around Steve’s ears like his own personal invitation, beckoning him, pulling him up and out of the chair. The music grows louder the second he steps from the library. It welcomes him to another place, commanding anxiety and worries to move away. A sweet melody he’s not familiar with. Steve lets it lead the way, hand running along the smooth polished banister, music tugging at his insides. He might pass Truvie as he goes through the kitchen, he’s not sure.

Quiet in his approach to the drawing room, Steve doesn’t want to startle his husband. He’s already startled enough for the both of them and needs to pause only a few steps beyond the doorway. Bucky. Bucky at the piano, fingers tickling the ivory keys softly, gently, is simply breathtaking. The way his hands move, friends with the keys, even though it’s the first time meeting, it’s amazing. 

A timid grin pulls up on Bucky’s mouth. No sideward glance or words. Just that twitch on his mouth. Gives Steve permission to come the rest of the way in. He does. Quickly. Needing to get to Bucky’s side before the piece is finished. Which he’s sure is going to be soon. The song his husband is playing is friendly. Brushes kind sounds up against his ears, makes him smile. The last of it hangs happily in the air, Bucky’s dexterous fingers making light work of the end. 

He pulls his hands away from the keys, holds them together in his lap. Bucky tucks his lip under his teeth. Doesn’t look up at Steve even though Steve’s right next to the bench he’s at. 

“I didn’t know what to say,” Bucky murmurs. “Didn’t know how to make you feel better. I just thought… maybe this…”

He stops when Steve puts his hand on his head, petting gently. “Thank you, Bucky. That was lovely. I don’t… what was that?”

His husband’s eyes flick up at him. There’s a smile in them. Even if Steve can’t get a good look at the rest of his face, he can see the smile shining in the glittering ice of his eyes. 

“You don’t know that song?”  
Steve shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Should I?”  
“Maybe.” He puts his hands back to the piano. Fingers press down again, start playing. Sings this time. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.” Bucky stops. Looks up again. Smile still there. “No?”  
“I…” 

No. He’s still never heard it. Not until just now. Bucky’s sweet voice, rough and untrained, but sweet all the same, sings it to him for the first time. That one line though _how much I love you_. Not the same as saying it. Steve’s very aware of that. Still, Bucky sang it. Part of a song. Just a lyric, simple. Nothing to read into. 

“Steve?”  
“I like your voice.” He says. Shakes the line out of his head. Means nothing. Bucky doesn’t love him. Can’t ever love him. How can he ever love him when he’s just barely accepted him as his husband? Is still learning to accept him as his headship? Never even wanted him? “It’s nice.”  
“Oh.” Bucky’s cheeks turn pink. “Thank you. My sis--, um, young Lady Barnes, always made me sing at her birthday parties.”  
“Your sister.” Steve corrects. “Is that right?”

Bucky blinks. Hesitates. Steve sees more than one thought pass across his face. 

“Yes.” Those thoughts are still there. Steve’s seen them before. “Um… she could pretty much get me to do anything…”  
“Does that bother you, Bucky?”

He crinkles his face. That cute way. Steve likes it. 

“That she wanted me to sing?”  
“No. That I don’t mind you calling your family, your family.”  
“Oh. That.” He tugs a bit at his ear. “Um. It’s… just. I’m not sure how I should handle that.”  
“Okay.” Steve turns on the bench so that both legs are on either side of it. He gently swipes a stray hair away from Bucky’s face. “Talk to me. What are you afraid of?”  
“Well… I’m not supposed to regard them as my family anymore. They’re not. The House Rogers…”  
“Right. This is your House now.” Steve takes his husband’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “Legally. You belong to me and the House of Rogers. But that will never stop Lady Barnes from being your mother. Rebecca Barnes from being your sister. I’ll never ask you to stop seeing them as such.”  
“But… in public…”  
“I know. We need to do a song and dance for Society. But here, when it’s just me and you,” Steve holds a piece of Bucky’s hair between his thumb and index fingers. Connections. “You don’t need to worry about it.” Bucky’s looking at him like he doesn’t understand him. Maybe that’s too much. Too difficult. “Is that okay? Or would you rather…”  
“Steve…” He wraps his arms around his neck. “I don’t… I…” Those arms get tighter. More affection. Steve has a feeling Bucky’s trying to keep from crying. “Thank you.”

Steve holds him for a few minutes. There’s some trembling. Sniffles. Wet lashes that Bucky tries to hide. 

“Hey.” Steve murmurs, a breath of a word right into Bucky’s ear. “If I remember correctly, I believe I owe you a meal of chocolate?”

Still holding onto him, Bucky snickers. Pulls back. Wipes his eyes as he lowers his chin. Hiding a few lonely tears. 

“I believe you did say something about that, yes.”  
Steve grins. “That must have been incredibly difficult for you.”  
“Mm.” Bucky shakes his head. He gets out a little laugh. Scoffs it. “Steve… you… are you utterly incapable of thinking about yourself, husband?”

He’s not sure what he means by that. There’s a tiny smirk on his husband’s lips. It’s accusing Steve of something. 

“What?”  
“Yes, Steve, is was… hard at first. But… I didn’t play for _me_. I played for _you_. Because I wanted to make _you_ feel better.”

For a moment Steve can only look at his husband. He’s in awe of Bucky. Right now. The man who wanted nothing to do with him. Didn’t choose him. Never chose this marriage or to be here. Who was forced to marry up, to have a headship. He’s overcome one of his own obstacles just for Steve. Bucky’s told Steve that he believes he always know what to say. That he says the right things. All the time. 

What Bucky doesn’t know is that normally there are so many words jumbled up inside of Steve’s mind, pushing and shoving for a chance to get out. Right now, there are none. None that will come and stay long enough for a chance to sink in. 

None except, “I’m going to kiss you now, Bucky. The way I should have upstairs. Okay?”  
Bucky’s eyes close. He breathes out softly, “Yes. Please…”

Their lips meet softly. Bucky said it was okay for him to touch without permission now, so Steve lets his hand run down the side of his neck. Fingertips brush over his collarbone, just peeking out of the opening of his shirt, the first few buttons undone. His husband moans into his mouth and Steve wants so much more of him. He pulls back. Steve’s promised he won’t without asking first. But those ice flavored eyes of Bucky’s are nearly black. Nighttime urges and deep, inner desires that pull him forward to meet Steve again, slamming lips together. It sends fire all the way to Steve’s bones. Lights his entire body with it. 

Steve’s hands gather his waist, hoisting Bucky off the bench he’s seated on and up to the piano, right on the white and black ivory. They play a new song for him. Off key. So many notes at once. But it’s their song now, and it continues as Bucky moves in suit with Steve’s body pushing up against his. Fever caught. 

Hovered over his husband, Steve works his mouth across his cheek and down to his neck, tasting his skin as it warms. He can feel Bucky’s chest expanding against his own. Hear the soft whimpers. Quiet moans. The perfect, flat, sharp, off key melody playing underneath his body as he moves. 

Hands begin to explore his husband’s body, husband’s hands explore his. New. Exhilarating. Breathless. Fingers press hard into the back of Steve’s neck and pull him into Bucky’s mouth again. Hot pulse pounds in his ears and all Steve can think about doing is tasting every inch of Bucky’s body, tongue sliding over his smooth skin. Licking, devouring. Making him pant out his name. 

His hand runs up Bucky’s thigh. Bucky’s hips rise and slam back down. Then there’s a change. Quick. Subtle. Just a catch in Bucky’s breathing, a shift in his posture, like the rapid change in the wind. But it’s there. Steve feels it. Pulls away. 

Bucky looks horrified when he does. Body trembling. Shakes his head and tries to pull Steve back in. Long fingers latching onto Steve’s shirt. Steve’s not having it.

“No.” He says, voice full of authority. Steadies himself. “Something happened. You’re not okay anymore.”  
“No, no.” Bucky’s voice cracks, but he still goes on. “I’m fine.”  
“You’re _not_ fine, Bucky. Do not lie to your husband. Tell me what’s wrong. Or…” Steve rattles his head. “No, you don’t need to say if you don’t want. But, I’d like you to. You don’t have to say, but I asked for honesty. Don’t lie.”

Bucky’s chin lowers, not before his face crumples. He sucks in a jagged breath. Whimper carries softly through the air. Steve slips two fingers under that chin, helps guide his face back up. Eyes stay down.

“Look at me.” That’s an order. Bucky obeys. “I’m not mad. Well. Maybe a little. I don’t want you lying to me.”  
“M’sorry, husband.” He whispers. “I… I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”  
“You didn’t. Hey. C’mere.” Steve helps him slide off the piano. It plays one last personal tune for them for the day as he lets his husband fold into him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I told you. Whenever you’re ready.”  
He’s still shaking. “And if… if I’m…”  
“And if you’re never…” Steve nuzzles the top of his head, “then you’re never. It’s fine.”  
Bucky groans. Buries his face in Steve’s chest. Mumbles, “But I… I don’t… I mean.” He sighs. “I don’t _not_ want to, Steve. I just… I don’t know. The last… Brock was…”

Ah. That makes sense. The last person Bucky’d been with was Brock Rumlow. Who’d used him. Steve doesn’t imagine Brock had ever put a gentle hand on on him. On his husband. Brock Rumlow’s hands all over his husband’s body. The anger blossoms fast. Hits Steve hard. Stemming from jealousy.

He means what he says to Bucky, about it being okay if they’re never together, physically. Even if his body pines for him already. Aches for him painfully. That doesn’t lessen the hurt, the envy of all the hands that have touched him, the last pair that have and didn’t care for him one bit, didn’t have one ounce of appreciation or respect for the soft, delicate body that Steve wants to shower with kisses, to make shudder with pleasure. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice sounds far away. Small, meek. “Husband? I did it again, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I only wanted…”

Steve places his fingers right over his husband’s mouth, keeps him quiet.

“You didn’t, Bucky. Not your fault. This is on me. I was, um…” He feels that embarrassing discomfort rise up. Owes Bucky an explanation though. “I was, uh… jealous.”  
“Jealous?” Steve’s rewarded with that cute, crinkled face again, even if Bucky’s mumbled the word behind his hand. “Why?”  
“Jealous…” He says to word again just to confirm it. Yes. Jealous. “Of…” Steve glances away, “people who’ve gotten to be… with you.”  
“...Oh.” Bucky clears his throat. “Please don’t. I mean, at least not of…” He doesn’t finish that. Doesn’t need to. He sucks in a deep breath. Touches the face not looking at him. “It’ll be different with you.” A promise being made in an evening of truths, of music notes and fire pitted bellies. “And you’ve been in love before. I’ve only thought of love. Maybe once. With Talia. I used to think we’d get married. I never thought I’d be somewhere I didn’t want to be.” Steve’s gaze flicks back up. All at once Bucky’s eyes grow large. Bug like. Try to climb out of their sockets. “No! Oh for fuck’s sakes, what is _wrong_ with me? I give up!”

He pulls away from Steve. Stomps around a bit. Mini-tantrum. Despite the statement that’s shoved Bucky into this torrent of curses and jerky movements, Steve’s mildly amused. He can’t help it. A few more swears and obscenities have slipped from his husband’s lips. Even some in Russian as he continues to berate himself. 

Bucky stops. Stands still for a moment before peering back at Steve and rushing over to him again. He places flat palms on his chest.

“Steve. Husband, please tell me to stop talking. To never talk again. Please?”

Steve chuckles. Pets the top of Bucky’s head all the way down his neck and to his shoulders. It makes Bucky quiver. Pleasantly, Steve thinks.

“I will do no such thing.” He says. “I like when you talk.”  
“But…” He groans. “I never say the right thing. I always say things that hurt you.”  
“I asked for honesty. I can’t fault you for that.”  
“Yes, but…”  
“You said I’d be different. What did you mean exactly? By that?”  
“I meant that…” He stops. Hesitates. “I can… ask you again?”

That stray hair is back in front of Bucky’s eyes again. Steve brushes it away. He understands. He’ll reassure him forever if he has to. This is the first time all week he’s asked. 

“Everytime.”  
“You’re not going to…” Bucky voice fills with regret. Lungs filling with air to hold that emotion there. Unwanted, but still present, “to use me? Right?”  
“Never.” He murmurs. A breath of security. Always for his husband. Whenever it’s needed. He’s still moving his hand up and over Bucky’s skin. His husband looks a little dazed, drawn in by the peaceful, comforting touches. “Still with me? Can you answer now?”

Bucky nods, lungs releasing the air like a well deserved rest after a long, gruelling battle. Regret gone with it.

“Well, you’re my husband?”  
“Are you asking me?”  
“What? No? I…” Bucky seems confused. Maybe confusing himself some more. Steve stills his hand. Leaves it at the back of Bucky’s neck. “Um. Just that… you and me? It would be more like what Talia and I had. Not just a fling. It will… _mean_ something, Steve.”  
“Ah.” Steve smiles, earns one from Bucky. That’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever said. “Hold still. I’m going to kiss you again.” That’s not exactly asking, but he’s not met with any protests. He kisses Bucky. Bucky kisses back. Soft. A smolder still inside, but no flames bursting this time. Settled. Waiting to be kindled into something stronger again. “See? You don’t always say the wrong things, Bucky.”

The way Bucky lights up when Steve says this, sunrise and sunset at the same time, every color of the rainbow, it’s like Steve’s just presented him a most wonderful gift.

“No?”  
Steve shakes his head. “No, baby. You don’t. Now let’s go have some supper. We need our strength for tomorrow. Everything’s going to be just fine.”  
“Wait…” Bucky rattles his head. Eyes him playfully. Expression a tad suspicious. “This Steve is different than the one from a little while ago. Did… did I do that?”  
“Do that?” Steve grins, teasing. Tilts his head like he’s thinking about it. “Make me feel better? Yes, Bucky. You did. Thank you.”

Bucky smirks up at him. His proud peacock of a husband. Feathers spreading with that close to arrogant grin of his. First time Steve’s seen it up close. Real, unreserved. 

“I did good, then?” He asks. Eyes sparkle. Tongue moistening lips. Tempting Steve.  
“Are you doing that on purpose?”  
Bucky snickers. “Maybe.”  
“Well…” He tries to hide his amusement. Forces mock-annoyance. “Cut it out.”  
He presses his face into Steve’s shirt, though that smile is still there. “Yes, husband.”  
“Come on, Bucky.” Steve throws an arm around his husband’s shoulders, starts to guide him out of the drawing room. “Supper. Then we’re gonna go to the library. You’re gonna read to me.”  
“I’m… what? I am?” Bucky appears quite flustered. Again, cute. Positively adorable. More Private Bucky. More of the bits and pieces that only a few select get to see. “I don’t remember you saying anything about that?”  
“Mm. I just decided. Besides, you like to read and I like to hear your voice. So, we’ll go upstairs after supper. No more worries about tomorrow. Deal?”  
“That sounds like a very logical plan of action, husband.”

Steve chuckles, leaning his chin in soft hair. They both pause when they enter the morning room. Table’s set. Dinner served. No Truvie.

“I think perhaps the piano was too loud.” Bucky comments, shy laugh hidden under his words. 

Steve laughs. Says, “You’re probably right.”

Holds back the words that get jumbled inside his head. Too many of them. _So_ many of them. 

You’re perfect, he wants to say. Just like this. The way you are. Never change. Not for me. Not for Society. Not for anyone. 

Still too soon to say I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone!! Hope everyone had a lovely week. I only have one chapter to share this week, but there will be two next Friday, plus another tidbit in the [DVD extras.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2653142/chapters/5927606.com/) Hope you all enjoyed! As always feel free to leave comments and//or to come find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And for this week's visuals we have:
> 
> Bucky playing the piano for Steve
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>  
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> His delight at being told he doesn't always say the wrong thing
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>  
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> Steve stressed out and overworking 
> 
>  
> 
> And after Bucky's teased him about making him feel better
> 
>  
> 
> Well I hope you all have a nice weekend and hope to see you again next week!!


	14. There is No War In Ba Sing Se

These chairs are always uncomfortable. Unkind to those who need to sit in them for any extended period of time. Even though Bucky’s used to being fussed over before interviews--hair to be done this way for the camera, chin tilted just the right way, not enough light for that color jacket--he still doesn’t understand the purpose of such a mean chair. Metal hard on his back, rude oh his thighs and buttocks. 

He’s never been nervous before an interview. Not since he was a child anyway. Nerves poke at his insides this afternoon though. Today needs to be different. Bucky’s not meant to handle this interview the way he normal does. All smiles and laughs, haughty grins and saucy remarks, hands on approach and answering with whatever comes to mind. He needs to be good for Steve, his husband, currently on the other side of this huge place also being poked and prodded at, in order to smooth things over. Nothing more has been said in regards to the marriage or Steve’s headship. But it’s no risk to be taken. 

Steve needs to show Society that he’s has proper authority over his husband, and Bucky needs to show that he accepts it. Steve married down. He needs everyone to know the House of Rogers taught him how to take control of those beneath him. Bucky’s married up. Needs to show everyone the House of Barnes taught him how to respect those above him. Not an easy task.

The House Rogers _did_ teach Steve how to lead, how to take control, and be in charge. Much to Bucky’s delight, though, his husband prefers to earn the right to all of that. He doesn’t demand it, doesn’t feel it’s his privilege out of arrogance and entitlement. Steve works for it. Wants to earn it, spark a fire inside of those around him. And Bucky knows how to respect those in Society higher than he. He was taught well, House Barnes not rooted in, but valuing Society’s hierarchy. But Bucky’s also social. Knows how to talk to people, likes to talk to people. It’s natural, second nature. And today he needs to turn it off. Just like Steve needs to turn on an active air of dominance and control. A show for the public. 

A woman leans forward, brushes soft bristles across his face, applying some sort of makeup that will bring out the color of his cheeks he’s always been told. Behind him, a man fusses with his hair while another woman fixes the paper over his collars that keep the makeup from getting on his clothes. Beyond them, workers are busying themselves with the set. Photoshoot goes first. Light bulbs are tested, big, bulky cameras set up at different angles for that perfect shot, drapes pulled away from huge arched windows. Eyes of the abandoned factory turned into studio.

Someone else comes over, holding an entirely different outfit. Not proper attire at all. Jacket made of leather, a pull over shirt--short sleeves, no buttons, light material that will hug around Bucky’s body--tight pants made from black denim. Underground styles. Controversial. Bucky feels his stomach clench. 

“Did Lord Rogers okay him to wear this?” The woman holding the new outfit asks the makeup artists.  
The man doing his hair answers, “Yes. Or, not the shirt. The jacket and the pants are fine. He wants him in a proper day shirt and tie. They’re in the wardrobe.”  
“This is for the second set, correct?” She questions, “For the couch?”

Bucky’s eyes seek out the spot she’s inquiring about. Sure enough, there’s a couch pushed up against a brick wall. It looks unhappy. Lonely over there with only big, metal pieces of equipment for company. 

The two people keep talking about the photoshoot, about Bucky, too, like he’s not even present. He’s used to this sort of thing though. They’re not being disrespectful. They’re working for reporters. Reporters. They have a strange position in the inner workings of Society. Not quite in it, but not truly kept out of it either. Any reputable reporter can do incredible harm with words out of context. Even just a gossip reporter can get, well, gossip, stirring. The right mix of words, of photographs, of eyewitness commentary, and the perfect cocktail can be made. 

So Bucky just listens to them discuss the plans this particular photographer has in mind for today’s photoshoot. Aside from the unconventional outfit, nothing is too out of the ordinary and Bucky has no real reason to pay them any mind. That is, until they say something that grabs his attention. 

“Then how are the outfits going to match up?” One wonders.  
The woman holding what will presumably be Bucky’s leather jacket sometime today says, “Lord Barnes will be changed again while Lord Rogers’ shoot goes on.”  
“Speaking of which--”  
“Wait,” Bucky interrupts their not-so-very-private conversation. “Is Steve, I mean, is my husband not taking photos first?”

There’s a collective moment of silence. One moment that they need to gather their bearings and remember who they’re with. This is Bucky Barnes talking to them. Society’s Sweetheart, married to Steve Rogers, status in not only in Society, but _High_ Society now. Bucky can see the instant it hits them. Eye-awakening, reality coming back all around them. Their heads bow, one then the next.

“No, m’Lord.” The woman doing his makeup replies. Voice quiet, held back now. No longer wrapped up in the world of her job that require artistic thinking. There’s a reason such minds are not allowed to hold positions of power. Easily distracted. Frazzled. She rattles her head. “Lord Rogers is, well, he’s set for the second set?”  
‘Well is he or isn’t he?” Bucky asks.  
“Oh. Yes. I mean. You’re going first, sir. Then Lord Rogers.”  
“Hm.”

Now that he’s called attention to himself, the wardrobe woman has scurried off again. The only conversations going on now are those among the crew. Where this goes and who gets that. Gives Bucky the chance to take a peek over at his husband. 

Steve is in a chair just like his. Maybe it’s not as mean to him, though Bucky doubts it. As promised, Steve hadn’t brought today up once last night. Not in the library, where he held Bucky in his arms as Bucky read to him. Strong hands so soft and gentle as they skimmed lightly over various body parts. Neck, cheek, arms, sides, even stomach. Steve loves to touch, to keep that physical connection intact whenever possible. Bucky doesn’t mind. At all. He, in fact, might love it as much as Steve. Physical reminders. Always anchored to his husband so that he can’t sink away in that deep, ugly pit of despair again. 

There’d been stolen kisses. Unasked for. So light, Steve’s lips just barely grazing the top of his head, like he hadn’t wanted to interrupt the reading going on, that Bucky wasn’t always sure if they happened or not. They made Bucky smile every time, taken without permission or not. 

On the way here, his husband had tried to maintain that pleasant openness. But the tension was there. Mocking and threatening to make him a mess again. Bucky had an idea. Decided it was time to play more of their game. Give his headship a bit of an advantage and ask Bucky unlimited questions. Clear his mind. Keep him busy.

What’s _your_ favorite holiday? New Years. Home come? Fresh start. New chances. (Bucky glanced at his lap) Newfound memories. (Steve blushed. Must have sparked a new question) What’s your best memory? (Bucky didn’t even need to think about it) Meeting Talia. We were in secondary school, first years. She said she wanted to be a ballerina. I laughed. She hit me later in the yard. Right in the mouth. Been friends ever since. 

Steve must have found that pretty funny. Laughter bubbled inside of him. Crinkled his face. Turned cheeks red. Late morning light sneaking in through the windows of the motorcar and laughing along. 

Over in the mean chair though, there’s no trace of those twinkling eyes. They’re closed right now, while a man applies some sort of foundation to Steve’s skin and a woman works her fingers through the golden tresses on his head. To the naked eye, Steve looks calm, maybe even relaxed. He answers when they speak to him, nods politely, even smiles a bit. A shadowed smile. Dimmed by current emotions running through his mind. Bucky can see them. See the anxiety in the way his husband’s hands grip tightly the arms of the chair. Looks almost painful. Serves the chair right. 

The lady with the makeup leans in towards Bucky again. Bucky shakes his head though, and slides off the chair. Starts towards Steve and leaves a confused woman standing there. She does mumble something as he goes. Words about not being finished. Bucky simply glances over his shoulder; flicks eyebrows up. It’s enough to get her to remember her place in all this. He gets a nod of her head. An apologetic motion. Conceding to the one higher in status, the only one _with_ status here. 

Bucky crosses the room. Feet carrying him over a hard, concrete floor. Unyielding. He shoos the people around his husband away when he gets there. Steve’s eyes are still closed. He doesn’t know he’s there yet so Bucky leans in close, hands sliding just under Steve’s arms.

“Steve.” He whispers. 

Those ocean eyes open immediately. Recognition in them. His husband already knows his voice by heart. He’s startled, too. Backs his head up a bit.

“Bucky? What’s…?”  
“You’re nervous.” Bucky says, trailing fingers lightly over one of Steve’s tense hands. Steve nods. “What’ll make it better for you? If I go first or if you go first?”  
“Oh. Um.” Steve takes in a deep breath. “Me. I… just want to get this part over with.” He grins, almost his own grin, still tempered with signs of anxiety, and reaches up to touch Bucky’s face. “Then I can watch you before we go together.”  
“Okay, well…” He trails off a bit, distracted by the warmth against his cheek. Eyes almost closing. “Um… wait, hang on.” Bucky guides Steve’s hand away from him. His husband’s eyes cloud over. A bit of panic swirling around in the waves. “You’re distracting me.” Bucky chuckles. “That’s all.”

Relief sets in. Comes out in a comforted breath. Steve peers back up at him. A new grin appears. Bright, but different. Bucky doesn’t know this one. He tilts his head, a question in the move.

“I didn’t know you were so easily distracted, Lord Barnes.” Steve murmurs. Hints of playfulness in his voice. Hints of something else. Eyes smolder, heat moves between them both. A fire. It burns in all the right ways, and Steve puts his hand right back where it was. “Something I should have been made aware of, I think.”  
“I…” Replies are there, somewhere, hidden behind shimmering emotions. Bucky’s dizzy. Wonderfully so. “What?”

Steve snickers and moves forward. Wraps one arm around Bucky’s waist to pull him onto his lap. People are around them. Watching. Or pretending not to watch. This isn’t exactly appropriate behavior for two gentlemen of Society. Knowledge of this is tucked somewhere in Bucky’s mind. Deep in the crevices of his brain where logic and rationale have decided to take a break and lounge for a while. Because with Steve holding him like this, one hand kept firmly on his hip--fingers pressed down almost possessively--while the other runs smoothly across his cheek, Bucky can hardly find a reason to care. He can barely even remember why he’d come over in the first place. 

Someone chuckles. At him, he’s sure. A deep, mischievous sound that sends lightning down his spine. Bucky hears, “Hey, you with me?” and looks for the source. Shooting stars flying high through his husband’s eyes. 

“Steve?”  
He grins again. “Your husband, remember?”  
“Yes.” Bucky rattles his head. Brain trying to refocus again. On Steve. His husband. “Yes. Um…”  
“I like you like this.” Steve chuckles.  
“You…” He’s sinking. Further into some place he’s never been to. “You’re doing this on purpose.”  
“Yes. You have your illegal looks, right?” He smirks. “Then I get this.” 

Steve’s fingers glide down his neck and it’s all Bucky can do not to let the growing whimper come out his throat. Sinking, yes, but Steve has him. Won’t let him go. Won’t let him fall.

“This is hardly fair, husband.” Bucky shudders, holds in a smile. Body hot, air chilly. Fans have turned on somewhere. Or there’s just a chill. He’s not sure.  
“No?”  
“At all.” He shakes his head. “We’re in public. You’re my headship. We’re here to do an interview, are we not? To help with that? How would it look if I disobeyed you here?”

He gets another laugh from his husband. Which is good. Means Bucky’s able to keep his tone light, airy. Playfully sweet the way he’d hoped, and Steve understands. Finds humor in it, too. 

“Am I taking advantage of you then?” He tsks at himself, teases back. Because his husband plays with him, teases and jokes, and that’s okay. Nice. Really nice. “My apologies, sir.” Steve runs his thumb of the hand that’s been gently touching his cheek across the back of his neck instead. Then stops completely. Puts that hand in his lap. “But you’ve come to talk to me, right? Out with it then. What do you have to tell your husband?”

Bucky blinks. Tries for some words. Mildly aware that Steve is waiting for an answer, expects one as his headship. Breaths collide with one another. Stomach tightens, heat encompassing all of it. Why did he come over here?

 _The photoshoot._ His brain kindly reminds him.  
 _Yes. Yes, right._

Blissful, euphoric sensations pump through his veins. Steve, his husband, doing those strange things to him again. Makes the world around him disappear. 

“Um, the photoshoot, you said…” He takes in a deep breath, coming back down to the ground again. Resurfacing in other places. World returns. “You’re more comfortable going first?”  
“Right?”  
“Well, you need to tell them that. Cause they want me to go first.”  
“Oh.”

One word to shatter the mood. Crashes through Bucky and slams him down hard. The hand that’s been secured at his hip moves. Leaves him feeling off balanced. Teetering on his husband’s lap. Because that’s where he is. On Steve’s lap, off to the side in a warehouse-turned-studio, with people still pretending like they’re not paying attention to them, and all traces of playfulness have melted away. 

“Hey…”  
“It’s okay.” Steve says. “Whatever they…”  
“No, Steve,” Bucky interrupts, soft and quiet so that no one can hear him cut off his headship. “You tell them you’re going first. Don’t take no for an answer.”

Because Steve will. He’ll push aside his own discomfort to accommodate these people. Noble, maybe. But Bucky’s not going to let him do that.

“But…”  
Bucky shakes his head. “Do it for me then. Please, husband?”

A whimper climbs off of Steve’s lips. Soft, just a breeze of a sound. He looks down and nods. 

“Okay.” He whispers. Steve glances back up, eyes focused on something beyond them. “Come on. They want us.”

Steve starts to get to his feet, sweetly helping Bucky back to his. As soon as he’s standing, and is quite sure that his knees _aren’t_ going to buckle-- _thank you, guys_ \--Bucky runs his left hand down Steve’s arm and laces their fingers.

“Okay?” He checks. 

Steve likes to touch, to hold hands. But today’s a little different. Bucky needs to make sure he’s allowed, even if he’s already taken his hand. 

“Yes.” He murmurs. “I’m going to kiss you, too.”

Bucky grins. Realizes he needs it just as much as Steve might. Nods, knowing that’s Steve seeking permission. Says, “Please?”

Lips find his. Warm. Strong and powerful. They take over for a heartbeat and then leave again. 

Once they make their way over to the set, they’re crowded again, people trying to add the finishing touches that Bucky’s impromptu need for a heart-to-heart with his husband interrupted. Steve keeps his hand in Bucky’s. Even when the photographer comes over and starts politely giving directions. Unlike others Bucky’s had to work with, this one’s almost tongue tied and timid when handing out his instructions to Steve and him. 

“So, um, Lord Barnes, if you wouldn’t mind,” He gestures to the first set he intends to use. 

High, black chair. Chic design. In front of simple white backgrounds. Flowing fabric and just a painted wall. Bucky suddenly gets what he’s going for, too. Traditional meets modern. In both sets. What he’s wearing now, proper day suit, casual, but still a gentleman’s attire will be a stark contrast to what he’ll be in when they move on to the next set using a more conventional and safe background. 

Only…

Bucky glances up to Steve. Sees that nervous twitch of his lips. He opens his mouth, needs a second try, but does what he promised.

“Actually, I, um, I’d rather go first,” He says. “If you wouldn’t mind.”  
“Oh…” The photographer looks a bit taken back. Not used to be told what to do by clients probably. “Um… it’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve mumbles. A retraction of his previous statement. Bucky holds in a sigh. Doesn’t roll his eyes. _Does_ squeeze the hand in his. Enough so that it makes Steve grunt over whatever else he’s saying. “It’s o… ow!” Oops. Eyes glide to the side, peek at him, brows tossed up. An _almost_ scolding look. More suprised, though, than anything else. Bucky lowers his chin. “Uh, I mean,” Steve clears his throat. Finds the something that what missing a moment ago. “I’d like to go first. Please.”

The please is added as an afterthought. Steve throwing politeness back in after taking that authoritative tone of voice. Switch turned on. Squeezed on, maybe, by Bucky. Button’s in his hand perhaps. Bucky almost chuckles. Can’t though, since he’s too busy watching the photographer’s face clear of all emotion. 

His eyes move from side to side. For a second, Bucky feels a little bad for him. He’s young, probably just starting his career. He swallows hard, appears to be trying to turn back on. Well, at least Bucky’s not the only one strangely affected by Steve. 

“Oh.” He murmurs. Mouth hangs open for a moment as though he’s forgotten what they’re here to do. “Um. Okay. Yes. No problem.” He shakes his head. “My apologies, Lord Rogers. I… didn’t mean to argue.”  
“No need to apologize.” Steve assures him. “Go ahead. Make whatever changes you need to let me go first.”  
“Yes, okay. Thank you, sir.”

He turns around, starts giving out a few more instructions. Take the chair away. Move some of the lights around. Put that camera over there. 

Steve takes the opportunity to slowly, painfully slowly, turn his gaze on Bucky. Bucky still has his chin lowered, but takes a quick glimpse at his husband. Intense gaze. Amused at the same time. Like in the club that night. Mix of both. 

He’s not sore with him, at least, Bucky doesn’t think so. Doesn’t think he did anything that would make Steve angry. 

Still, just in case, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”  
“Mm.” Steve chuckles. Unwinds their hands and puts his arm around his waist. Pulls in him closer. “For? Almost breaking my hand?”  
Bucky winces. “Did I squeeze you that hard?”  
“No.” He leans in, pauses with his lips right by Bucky’s temple. Waits for that slight nod of his head. He kisses there. “Thank you.”  
A grin pulls a the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “Well, you promised.”  
“Yes. I did. Bucky, I…” He stops. Closes his mouth tightly. Though Bucky’d love to hear what he wanted to say there, Steve changes it to, “You’re incredible. Just so you know. I think you’re incredible.”

The air is suddenly too hot. Too hot, yet Bucky’s body feel cold. Not in a bad way. Like Steve’s frozen him with those words, pulse thumping in his ears. 

“Incredible?” Bucky mouths the word, though it must come out because Steve responds with a simple caress behind the neck.  
“Incredible.” He repeats, locking the word in with that dominant tone he knows how to use. Expects Bucky to believe it, coming from him, his husband.  
“No… I…” He stops. 

Can’t figure out what to say anyway. Besides, when Steve swipes a finger across his brow to push away that near-permanent stray lock of hair, Bucky forgets most his native tongue anyway. 

“Um…”  
“You’re not going to argue with your headship, are you?”  
“Oh.” He folds his lips in. Shakes his head, abruptly aware that Steve’s not playing now. “Sorry, Steve.”  
“Wait,” He takes in a deep breath, must clear his own thoughts as well. “You can argue with me when you think you should. I want you to.” Steve’s voice gets lower. Holds in it some sort of heat, almost seductive heat. “Just not about this.”

Bucky nods. Understands Steve, but not himself, not his reaction to this, to any of it. He draws in a breath. With the next, he thinks he might want to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. All these new feelings, emotions, sensations, brought on so fast. Bucky’s not even sure who he is anymore.

He peers up at his husband. “Incredible?”

Steve’s beaming down at him, eyes holding strong. Sunrise on the ocean, deep tales of a life Bucky’s only scratched the surface of. 

“Lord Rogers!” The photographer calls out. “We’re ready if you are.”

Eyes still on Bucky, Steve says, “Okay.” Then places two hands at Bucky’s face. Puts his mouth right at his ear and whispers, “Incroyable,” and walks over to the set.

One last breath catches in Bucky’s throat when Steve replies in French like that. Affirming what he’s already said and making a rush of warmth river through him. It takes him an extra long moment to realize that his head is spinning. 

Bucky turns to see Steve being posed. Standing up and leaned against the white wall. Listening politely to how they want him, nodding along, even smiling. His eyes find Bucky, and he smiles like he’s just caught a glimpse of the best person in the world. Bucky’s cheeks burn.

Incredible. Bucky’s heart pounds against his ribs, speechless and completely pulled into another world. Uncharted, newly discovered. Steve think’s he’s incredible.

***

The couch is fairly comfortable. Better than the mean chair and even the modern one they had him on for his solo photoshoot. It’s even nicer now that Steve’s there with him. Steve. His husband. Who thinks he’s incredible.

That word’s been floating around Bucky’s mind all afternoon. Slithering into his veins, gushing through his entire body. He can barely get a grip. 

Truth is, Steve thinking so highly of him means more to Bucky than he could ever have possibly realized. He hadn’t considered the possibility of how he’d react if his husband didn’t like him. Wasn’t on his list of priorities when all this started, even if it should have been. Other thoughts had taken precedence, a higher place in his mind and heart. Not that he didn’t want to be liked by his husband. It’s just… Bucky’s not even sure. 

All he knows right now is that Steve’s compliments have latched onto something deep inside of him. Brings out a light and blissful feeling. That little guy who was too dumb to back down from a fight? He thinks Bucky’s incredible. And that makes Bucky willing to follow him to the end of the line. Really, he’s doesn’t even understand that. Doesn’t know what it means. He feels it though. Deep within the marrow of his bones. A sunbeam on the horizon, a warm day after snowy nights sensation that’s been buzzing through him for hours now. 

They’re winding down now. The photographer--Peter, his name is--steps out from under the big, black covering veiled over him and the camera. He’s saying a few things to some of the crewmembers, who react quickly to his instructions. Turn that light off, switch that one on. Pull the curtain to the right of them over. Makes the shading better.

Bucky takes the moment to look over at his husband. Steve’s seated on the couch next to him. They’re both in the modern attire set up for this occasion. Steve is less conspicuous. Dark denim pants and white pullover shirt that hugs his body like it’s missed him for years, suit jacket. He looks breathtaking, too. Stunning. All muscles wrapped up in thin, cotton material, a hint of what’s hidden underneath just barely visible through the v-neck collar. He looks even better when that little smirk sneaks up on his face, too, like he knows he being watched even if he hasn’t glanced over to confirm it. 

When he does, eyes moving before head, he says, “Hey, you.”  
“Hi.” Bucky replies, through a carefully held back grin. Not too big. Threatening to get there. “Holding up okay?”  
“Mm.” Steve nods. “It’s easier with you here.”

And there goes any restraint he had on the grin. Lips curl up. Light shining through them, Bucky’s sure of it. It’s almost painful trying to rein it in. 

_Well if you’d stop trying to keep us from doing our job it wouldn’t hurt._ His lips berate.  
 _Don’t I get any say in this?_

“Oh.” He manages to get out. “Um. I’m… glad, uh, that I could help.”

Bucky’s not too sure what he’d done to help at all. He was just there. Close enough that all Steve needed to do was reach out to him and a few steps would have brought him to his arms. Never did reach out though. Didn’t have to. Steve’s shy about all this, probably doesn’t see how beautiful he is, but he’s still very gracious about it all. Smiles like he means it, laughs when something’s funny, eyes smolder when he’s meant to look straight at the camera. 

“You do help,” Steve goes on to say, walking fingers across the bit of distance between them and skimming them up Bucky’s arm. He presses down a bit so that it can be felt through the thick material. The tips of Steve’s fingers against the leather jacket make a funny swishing noise. “I like you in these.”  
“Do you?” Bucky questions, surprised and then again, not surprised at all. Steve seems to have a liking for the unconventional. “You claim you didn’t marry me for some ulterior motive, but I’m becoming more and more convinced that you wish to start a scandal, husband.”

He chuckles to himself and then catches a glimpse of Steve’s face. Fallen and almost pale. Colors of spring and summer faded. Winter taken over. 

“Steve?” Bucky sits up quickly. Quick enough to give him a head rush, which he ignores in favor of touching Steve’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
“You…” His husband scoots up--Peter had them both slouched a bit--and breathes out. Heavy, stressed. Letting go of something that weighed him down. “You were joking.”  
“What?”

Steve takes his hold of the hand Bucky’s placed on his shoulder, presses it to his lips. Eyes are closed, but he peeks them open to get that okay before kissing. 

“I’m not trying to use you, Bucky. Okay?”

Click. Gears shift and everything makes sense. Bucky’s jaw drops just a bit. Just enough that his mouth can’t be considered closed. He hears the slight gasp that he sucks in.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “I didn’t… shit. I shouldn’t use that to fool around. I’m sorry, husband. I didn’t think… I…”  
“Shh,” Steve soothes, running a hand over that spot between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. “Hey. It’s not your fault. You were teasing. It’s okay.” He eyes him for another few heartbeats and then tucks Bucky into his arms. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Bucky is worrying. Didn’t realize how off balance he felt until Steve wrapped arms around him. He’s trembling, on the brink of bursting into tears. Panicked at the idea of hurting Steve even more than he already has. Incredible indeed. Wrong words. Every time. Without fail. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into the folds of Steve’s elbow, holding on tight. Fearful he’ll disappear somehow if he doesn’t. Touch, connections. They’re all good. “Steve, I’m…”  
“Don’t say it again.” He orders. Orders. Flat out. Expects to be obeyed. The weight of his command somehow ends up leaving Bucky feeling weightless. Better already. “Not your fault, Bucky, I told you. _I_ got scared for a minute. You can’t be held responsible for that, so don’t do that.” 

Steve runs his hand across the back of his neck. Petting. Sweet, gently. A physical reminder that he’s here, he’ll take care of him. Firm voice or gentle touch, Steve gives Bucky just what he needs. Balanced again, or at least, better equilibrium, even footing, Bucky glances up. 

“We’re okay?”  
Steve nods. “Of course we are.”  
“Steve…” Not I love you. Bucky gobbles the words back down. Can’t trust himself to be honest with them right now anyway. Doesn’t know if the words are truly being honest with him. Too many emotions. Raw, right at the surface. “You said you liked me in these clothes?”  
Steve chuckles. “I do. I’ve seen you in them before.”

His eyes go wide. That means… 

Bucky lifts himself up and away from the safe, warm place he finds himself when in Steve’s arms. He studies his husband for a moment. Tilts his head. Says, “You have?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”  
“You’ve… been to Shield?”

Only place he’d ever see Bucky dressed in such a fashion. Shield. Underground club. Late night music provided by unconventional bands, like the one who sang their wedding song. Dancing bodies pressed close together. Sweat and breaths mixed together on the high of liquor and the buzz of life. Hidden nights in the shadows of secrecy. The only people he knew of that have gone there, too, are his friends, accompanying him for good times of their own. Away from Society’s expectations and puppet shows. Oh. And Brock. But Bucky’d rather not think about that.

“I have. Once or twice.”  
“Why? I mean…” He rattles his head. “Not… it’s just…”  
“I know.” Steve grins. “Not a place you’d expect me to visit, right?”

Not because of his good-doer reputation, though that would have been a consideration before getting to know him better. 

“I just… you don’t like…”  
“I don’t. But it’s different there. Like I get to be someone else for a little bit. You know?”

He does know. It’s one of the appeals of the place. 

“Yes. I get it, husband. But… just so _you_ know, I kinda like how you are. I mean…” He hides his face back into the curve of Steve’s arm when he gets looked at while talking, too nervous not to. “I just mean… I wouldn’t want you to change is all.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Even the crew around them seems to have silenced. Or, they’ve dropped to a mere murmur of background noise. Nothing important. 

“Bucky…” Then he hugs him. Tight. “I don’t want you to change either. Even if you do flirt with with everyone during photoshoots.”  
“ _What_?” Bucky heaves himself upright. “I do not!”  
Steve laughs. “Do too. Why do you think the camera loves you? Cause you’re a big stiff like me?”  
“I…”

He might have a point. Not that the camera doesn’t love Steve as well. Bucky knows it does. But… there is an extra amount of eye contact and licked lips smiles, winks and flicked eyebrows during these things. He’s never doing it on purpose. It all just feels natural. 

“Hm?” Steve’s grin becomes more pronounced. Teasing again.  
“Oh be quiet.” Bucky laughs.

He slaps the bottom of his palm into Steve’s shoulder, thinking only a second too late that it might not be a good idea. He means it to be playful. An act between him and someone he’s comfortable with. Something he’d do to Talia, Clint or Maria. Panic doesn’t have enough time to descend upon him though since Steve simply takes hold of his wrist, face crinkled with a lighthearted laugh, and pushes Bucky down on the couch. Hovers over him, too.

“What’m I gonna do with you, my flirty husband?” He wonders, a quick shake of his head and a playful click of his tongue. 

Steve is so close to him right now. Bucky can feel every part of his body come to life. His husband’s warmth breathing him alive. 

“Nothing.” He replies. “You said you wouldn’t change me.”  
“Ah.” Steve rests his brow against his. “You’re right. I did say that.” He closes his eyes and when they open, Steve is a little more serious. Demanding to be listened to, even if for just one moment. “I mean it, too. Okay?”  
Bucky nods. “Yes, husband.”  
“Good.”

They both smile at the same time. Then laugh because of it. There’s a flash of light. Sounds of equipment being used. Light bulbs popping. Heads still pressed together, Bucky and Steve glance to the side, where Peter is once again emerging from under the black covering. 

“I think we’re good.” He says, big, satisfied smile on his face. “I should have just let you two run the show from the start. That was great.”  
Steve lifts himself up. “Were you… taking pictures that whole time?”

Oh good. At least, if he was, Bucky wasn’t the only one who missed it. Good to know his husband was just as trapped in their own private bubble as he was. 

“Just the last few minutes or so.” He answers. Grin leaves, chased away by a nervous grimace. “I mean, I won’t… use those shots if you don’t want me to. They came out really well, I bet. And I think it can make a good statement, but…”  
“Statement?”

The crew behind Peter is clearing out. There’s only so much time now before the reporters come in for the actual interview. 

“Um, yes, Lord Rogers, um…” Peter scratches at the back of his head. “It’s just… usually the couples who come in don’t get the real chance to act like themselves. I can’t imagine _all_ of them are so stuffy…” His cheeks get dark red. “I mean, given your House, and all, I just thought that maybe it’d be nice to show the people what Society’s Best Catch and Society’s Sweetheart are _really_ like. That, y’know, you can still be playful and affectionate and still maintain the proper headship?” He trails off. Shakes his head like he’s embarrassed for himself. “Never mind. I won’t…”  
“Use them.” Steve says. “If they came out well. I’d like you to.”

Bucky holds in a smile. Steve Rogers. His husband. Amazing. Leads through example, is good just for the sake of being good. Possibly the best decision Bucky didn’t make. 

“Oh.” Now Peter looks confused. Happy, but confused. “Okay. Thank you, Lord Rogers. And you, too, Lord Barnes. It was a pleasure working with you both.” He turns to leave. Stops and turns again. “Um… I just… want to let you know, I don’t believe it. That blurb in the paper. Also, thank you. For helping Gwen.”

Steve perks up. Bucky doesn’t know what that means, but apparently his husband does. 

“Do you know her?”  
“I do. She’s a friend of mine. When she told me what happened, I wasn’t all that surprised to find out it was you who helped.”  
Steve’s eyebrows stitch. “Oh?”  
“Yeah,” Peter nods. “Well, it’s just… you probably don’t remember, but a long time ago, you, sorta, helped me out.”  
“Me?” Steve says this as though the idea of him being able to help someone is absurd. “I did?”  
“Yes. At, um, a New Years…”  
“Peter?” Steve interrupts and rises to his feet. “Are you the Peter who was being picked on by Eugene?”  
“You remember me?”

Peter looks genuinely shocked. Bucky can’t blame him. If Steve hadn’t told him that story, Bucky wouldn’t have remembered him. Then again, all he really remembers of that incident was Steve. 

“Of course I do!” Steve exclaims. “How are you?”  
“I’m doing well, Lord Rogers. Very well. Because… of you, actually.”

Bucky watches from the couch as Steve makes that face again. One that suggests he has absolutely no idea how he of all people could possibly make someone’s life better. Bucky shakes his head, holds back a personal snicker. Steve doesn’t know a thing about himself. 

“Because of me?”

Peter nods, looking at Steve with wistful eyes, as though this is a moment he’s built up in his mind for years. Steve Rogers; his hero. Standing right in front of him after all these years and he finally gets the chance to gush the way he must have been holding back all this time.

“Yes, Lord Rogers, you… you inspired me that night. Made me want to be a better person,” Sounds like Steve alright, “I decided to follow my dreams,” He waves behind him to the lone camera still there waiting to be collected, “instead of blindly following my House into law enforcement. And because of the Tolerance and Acceptance Act the Lord and Lady Rogers have been trying to push through... my House, they didn’t dismiss me.”

Bucky’s not sure what the Tolerance and Acceptance Act is, but for Peter’s House not to dismiss him for choosing to become a photographer when his family is of Society must mean it’s pretty impressive. Then again, his House can’t be too high up in Society, probably scraping just along the bottom. Still, to want to remain dignified and save face, it wouldn’t have been unusual for his House to have dismissed him for his career choice. 

“That’s so nice to hear, Peter,” Steve remarks, chin slightly tucked into his neck like he’s unwilling to accept that it was _his_ actions that may have put Peter on this path to his happy life. “I’m so glad for you.”  
“Yes, well, I just…” Peter blushes. Runs fingers through his hair. “I always wanted to thank you, so when I found out about today, that you and Lord Barnes were coming in for an interview, I just… I jumped at the chance to be the photographer.” He rattles his head. “Ugh. Okay, I believe I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself enough. Thank you again, Lord Rogers. For everything. And…” His eyes seek out Bucky’s. Bucky grins. “And you, too, Lord Barnes.”  
“No need to thank me, Peter. Really. I’m just glad to see that you’re doing so well.”

Peter blushes again. Bows his head slightly, an overly formal way of bidding them adieu and then hurries out, collecting his camera and almost tripping over his own feet as he does. 

The reporters are already coming in, a few of them, about a dozen from what Bucky can see so far. Steve sits back down next to him. Looks nervous again, the pleasantries of speaking with Peter already losing to the onslaught of nerves. A sudden thunderstorm. Predicted, but still shaky weather on the horizon. 

Bucky wants to do something for him. Anything. Nothing seems good enough. There’s nothing he could ever do for Steve Rogers that’ll _ever_ be good enough. 

This man that he’s married, not by choice, is turning out to be the best person Bucky’s ever known. Good for the sake of being good, everything Bucky wishes he could be and knows he never will. He feels his heart shattering, piece by piece, flaking off and being scattered to the rest of the world by an unfelt wind. Bucky has the sudden urge to be wrapped up in his husband’s arm in Steve’s home-- _our home?_ \--to be given the chance to beg him to love him back. Love him back because Bucky’s falling in love with him. 

With his husband. His headship. Falling in love with a man that he’ll never deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Friday! Hope your week went well! For anyone starting their Holiday Breaks today ((or have started//will be starting)) I wish you all safe travels and happy vacations! 
> 
> Okay, so you might have noticed a wee bit of of a inconsistency with the club names in this chapter. You're not wrong! The club they went to in an earlier chapter was indeed called Shield. I have since edited it and changed _that_ club to Hydra and made the underground club Shield. The connotations there, the idea that the club Hydra is where people can be more themselves and not always have to conform to Society's traditions and rules ((given that in universe canon Hydra is a Nazi organization)) and thereby be seen as the better place didn't sit right with me, so I went back and switched it. 
> 
> Alrighty, so this week's a double dose! Another chapter is just a click away if you'd like! But of course I wouldn't leave you without some lovely visuals!
> 
> Here's Bucky being made up and fussed over before the photoshoot
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> The proper gentleman's attire part of the shoot
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> And the modern attire, and more controversial part of the shoot
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> Steve's start of the photoshoot, with Bucky standing right by of course ((no, that dude isn't Sebastian Stan, but his profile looks so much like him that this works out so well doesn't it?!?))
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> Moving on to Steve's modern attire shots
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> Steve getting playful during the shoot
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> Peter when Steve tells him he remembers him
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> And finally, we have one of the very bold, daring image that Peter bravely took ((Steve vetoed this being used in the article, even though he loves the photograph very much. So does Bucky.))
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> Credit for this image goes to the awesome [lovealetterbomb](http://lovealetterbomb.tumblr.com/) thank you so much for letting me use your edit! 
> 
> Kay, kay, there you have it! Next chapter is ready when you are!


	15. I'm Laughing So Hard at Hey Arnold Right now that I can't Come up with a Clever Chapter Title

The interview is going rather well, as far as Steve can tell. Several reporters, semi-circled in front of them, various means of taking their notes have asked some of the more typical and expected questions. How’s married life? How are you adapting? What have you learned, Lord Barnes? When will you be hosting your traditional first dinner party? Why haven’t you yet, Lord Rogers?

Having Bucky next to him, cool and an air of confidence does wonders. Even if he’s been deferring to him, _making_ himself defer to his headship, a conscious effort made by someone whose life has been upheaved and quickly put back together with well-meaning but clumsy hands. Lighthearted laughs and playful comments, Bucky’s still Bucky, but able to pull off just what they need for this. Steve can only hope he’s doing the same.

The way they’ve interacted today, with each other in front of the reporters, a laid back, comfortable atmosphere, it makes Steve forget that this isn’t truly how they are yet. Bucky’s pretending, for the papers. Acting this way on purpose. There’s a pull at Steve’s heart. An ache he can’t really explain.

He’s not lying when he answers _Is Lord Barnes meeting all your expectations_ with _and then some_. Bucky, past their rough and rocky start, has blown Steve’s mind. He’s opened up and listens and permits himself to laugh and play with Steve. Starting to not worry about every little thing he does. But this man with him here, this person who’s almost pleased to be married right now, he’s not real. Doesn’t exist. He’s just a show, an act put on for Society so that these rumors may be put to rest. And that hurts.

Steve knows it shouldn’t. It’s not fair of him to want so much from Bucky, who’s told the reporters that Steve’s title of Society’s Best Catch isn’t farfetched. That, well, Steve doesn’t think Bucky’s lying when he says things like that. It never fails to make him fly. High in the air, clouds, big and fluffy, all around. 

By the middle of the interview, amid questions about children and answering with the idea of getting a kitten first, Steve feels Bucky shift on the couch. It brings him just a little closer. It’s a subtle move, one that no one else would probably notice. But after another question or two, Bucky does it again. Gradually getting closer to him. Close enough that their arms are just brushing together. 

Steve needs to interrupt Bucky a few times, not appropriate moments for him to be answering or just a question that Steve doesn’t want answered at all. Bucky responds beautifully, like he has been since their talk. Doe-eyed glances and mild apologies. Not acting, not fully anyway. Bucky doesn’t like to have to be reminded by his headship that he’s straying from acceptable behavior. Steve’s husband, who so enjoys praise and affection, but is still shy and bashful about asking for it, truly wants to be good for him. 

But Steve wishes for more than that. He doesn’t want his husband to feel the need to be good for his headship. Even if it’s required, even if that _is_ something they _both_ respond well to, it just not enough. Steve longs for Bucky to love him as his husband before all that. Wants it so bad he can taste it. 

How? How can that ever happen? Bucky can’t ever love him. Not when he’s being forced to be here. Forced to live under his headship when he never even had the choice. No one could ever love that. Something stabs at Steve’s chest.

They’re still answering questions, those fired off at them as though it’s been rehearsed for days. Some of them have been loaded questions, tricks pulled by reporters to get one of them to slip up, make a mess of this whole thing. Steve’s made sure that neither of them have gotten caught up in those. Like the one just asked about Bucky’s father and what his thoughts would be on their marriage. 

“Don’t answer that, Bucky.” Steve tells him before he can finish the reply he’s giving.

Bucky tenses. Not because of Steve, at least, Steve doesn’t think so. Rather, the question at hand, the answer he was going for. That he wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have had to marry Steve at all. That pain in Steve’s chest gets worse.

He lowers his head, whispers, “Okay.” Bucky peers up at him, an apology in his glistening eyes. “Thank you, Steve.”

Though Steve would love to pull him into his arms right now, assure him that everything is fine, he gets no chance. Mr. Jameson, of the Daily Bugle, a pushy, brash reporter, keeps the interview going.

“Moving along then,” He grunts. “What has been your greatest obstacle?”

One of those possible loaded questions. Steve takes few breaths to think about it, one deep inhale. Needs a safe answer, one that won’t give anyone any reason to continue these rumors about his ability to be Bucky’s headship. 

“Probably…”  
“Me.” Bucky states. 

Firm, hard; a statement that leaves no room for any argument. Steve glances at him, but Bucky’s gaze is firmly, bravely, on Jonah Jameson. 

“You, Lord Barnes?”  
“Yes, me.” Bucky nods his head once. “Entering this marriage, I know I wasn’t the easiest to maintain, to take headship over. I didn’t mean to be such a struggle. But I was, _am_ , mourning. Still not in the greatest of places, never expected to marry up, and Steve has been wonderful.” 

A twitch of a grin pulls at Steve’s mouth as he goes on, and he thinks he could just burst with joy. His husband thinks he’s wonderful. 

Bucky says, “He’s inspired me to fall in line with his headship, rather than using brute force. And it’s helped a lot. I think.” He fumbles with his lips, those last few words falling out like he suddenly lost hold of them. Bucky looks at Steve like he’s worried he’s done something wrong. Eyes swimming with that worry. “Oh, I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have…”  
“No, that’s fine,” Steve assures, adding touch for comfort. Fingers under his husband’s chin. Makes those big eyes of his close. “I told you, honesty and transparency, right?”  
“Right.” Bucky smiles. Voice clear of momentary panic of speaking out of turn. “Still. Thank you, Stevie.”

World must have faded away for his husband, leaving him alone with only Steve. It’s nice, seeing how Steve feels the same way now. Everything else has faded into the background, overlapping shadows and white noise that means nothing. Bucky rests his head on his shoulder as though he’s suddenly very tired. Needs the support and wants only Steve to provide it. If only that could be true forever. A warm breath whispers across Steve’s neck on Bucky’s exhale. There’s a firecracker that seems to go off in Steve’s stomach. Fizzes through his body with sparks and centered heat. He’s inspired Bucky? That’s what’s happened? And then… Stevie? No one’s ever called him that before. 

It doesn’t dawn on Steve that he’s staring at his husband until Bucky picks his head back up and they catch eyes.

“Husband?”  
“You’re welcome, Bucky.” He murmurs, mostly to him, not for the reporters. Then says, _for_ the reporters’ sake, “But I’m not sure I completely agree with you. Not in that…” Steve’s not going to go into the specifics of what made Bucky difficult, not willingly anyway. “I just think that maybe we were _both_ our greatest obstacle. Our own insecurities held us back. We’ve recognized this in ourselves and each other and we’re working through it.” 

Bucky’s comments on Steve inspiring him to fall in line with living under a headship spurs on a new round of questions. Of underhanded comments and loaded remarks that lead into talks of what happened at the club’s opening. They work through it easily enough, sidestepping here and there, but ultimately giving their version of the story. No mention of Brock Rumlow of course. How wonderfully convenient for him. 

“Another question on the matter of headship,” One of them states, “How do you feel about the rumors circulating?”

Steve is about to tell him he’s more concerned with running his House than worrying himself over the simple words churned out of boredom when Bucky glances up at him. 

“May I answer this?” He asks, seeking permission to speak when it just might be out of turn.

Steve waves his hand out. Clears the path for him to take. Road new and never walked upon.

“Be my guest.” 

Bucky’s lips struggle to give a grin. Nervous, Steve thinks, even if he’s not shown one sign of nerves this entire time. 

“I guess it’d be natural for my husband to want to defend his place as headship, but I think it might be better coming from me.” He starts softly. Steve recognizes this tone. Gentle, carefully choosing words to make them the right ones. “Because the only two people in this marriage are us.” A contented grin crawls across his mouth at that; makes Steve’s mouth turn up in suit. “Steve’s taken an active approach to learn about me and teaching me about him. Now, maybe that’s not the way it’s done in most Houses, I know it wasn’t in my, my former House, but it seems to be working for us. Steve was voted Society’s Best Catch for several reasons, and one of those reasons is because he’s not a bully. Layman's terms, I know, but it’s the simplest answer I can give. My husband wants to lead, not rule. And for that I’m grateful.”

If it was possible, if it would be acceptable, Steve would on his knees right now. On his knees thanking Bucky for every word that’s ever come out of his mouth, even those that left small cuts and bruises inside of him. He can’t though, and all Steve can do is sit there, stewing in the amazement that is his husband. 

“You don’t think that sort of thing could be detrimental to Societal tradition?” The same reporter wonders.

There’s no way Steve’s going to let anyone make a mockery of all the wonderful things that Bucky’s just said. No one will twist and turn those words into meaning something they don’t. That was for them, for Steve and Bucky.

“How we live our private lives?” Steve says. “No, I don’t. I like my husband the way he is.” He said it earlier, and this time the comment is accompanied by an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t want him to have to change to please _other_ people. _I’m_ his headship, Society isn’t. Isn’t he supposed to be most pleasing to me?

“That’s an interesting way to look at it.” One of the ladies comments. She sounds pleasantly intrigued. 

Bucky nods and says, “Well, you wonder about change to tradition and Society. Isn’t everything always changing? I’ve already told you that I was… a bit of a handful the first week or so of our marriage. I take the blame for that.”

That right there is skating right along the edges of that little rule of his. Not there, but dangerously close. 

“Bucky.” Steve interrupts, voice calling immediate attention.  
“Yes?”  
“We’ve talked about this.” They have, once. Briefly, and followed by deep and intense discussions. Easily forgotten. “You’re not to take the blame for that, right?”  
“Oh.” It sinks in immediately. Steve can see the worry there though. Worry that he’s upset him. “Sorry, Steve. I, um, I just…”  
“You’re okay. Keep going.”  
“Um, it’s just…” He needs something to get him back on track. They might still be new to this, to each other, but Steve knows that much. He hugs that arm a little tighter, pulling Bucky just a little closer. A touch to let him know everything is okay. “A few weeks ago... there’s no way I would have _wanted_ to do this interview. I _would_ have, if my headship arranged it, of course. But the point is, Steve’s approach to being my headship makes me _want_ to do things for him, to help him and please him. I don’t feel _forced_. And I think that matters a lot to both of us.”

Steve’s not sure how much his heart can contain today. If any of that is true, any at all, it means that Bucky understands him so much better than he thought. 

“It does.” Steve murmurs.

That earns him one of Bucky’s shy grins and Steve wants everyone in this room to just disappear. Kissing Bucky is all he can think about right now. Pressing lips somewhere on his body. Holding him closer than the just barely affectionate way he is now. 

They’re done after just a few more questions. It’s the looks on their faces that gives it away. That expression reads like words on paper. _We’re not going to get much more than this_. Bucky is still leaned up against him; Steve’s arm never leaving once it made its way across his husband’s shoulders. 

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Lord Rogers, to you and your husband,” One of the reporters say, extending the appropriate amount of respect by giving him one nod of her head. “It’s greatly appreciated that you could find a way to fit us into your schedule.”

Steve smiles. It’s over. They did it. Wasn’t all that bad. Then again, it’s never quite the crisis situation Steve builds it up to be. All the better today because of Bucky. 

“Oh not a problem.” He replies. Interview’s over, but it’s still best to play along. “I’m very glad for the opportunity, as usual. My husband and I are grateful to have been asked.”  
“Am I allowed to say goodbye?” Bucky wonders and then laughs at his private joke that he more than likely hadn’t meant to say out loud. 

No matter, he’s resting comfortably against Steve and Steve honestly finds humor in his comment. Finds sheer contentment in the warm body still fit nicely next to his. Bucky’s last few answers regarding Steve’s headship has Steve on top of the world. He has no idea if he was telling the whole truth, or perhaps it’s all a charade for the interview, but the words Bucky’s used, words like grateful and want and not forced, if any of them ring even the slightest bit true, Steve’s not sure he has a big enough heart to hold all the love that’s filling it up. 

“Wait, wait,” Couldn’t be that easy. Mr. Jameson seems to have one last question. “Before we leave, there’s something on my mind, on… _everyone’s_ mind, I’m sure. Lord Rogers, as Lord Barnes’ headship, and given the active approach to get to _know_ him,” He says this as though he finds fault in Steve’s desire to know his husband, “Is it safe to assume that you’ve asked questions about the life he lived _before_ marrying you?”

Steve blinks a few times. All the other reporters have turned their gaze away from Mr. Jameson and moved to him. Waiting for his answer.

“Sure. What…?”  
“Then perhaps you can clear up the mystery for us. What _did_ happen to your husband’s arm?”

Steve can hear Bucky’s sharp inhale. His husband’s completely rigid next to him. Eyes wide; peering out at a world that’s just bled over in shock and regret. 

“Excuse me?” Steve whispers.  
“Your husband’s arm.” He says again. “There’s been many rumors about…”  
“Come on, Bucky,” He interrupts whatever else anyone had to say. Wasn’t listening anyway. Never really wanted it repeated. “We’re leaving.”

He’s on his feet already, even though Bucky is still on the couch. Same spot, pretty much same position. Frozen in a moment that hurts him. Steve’s reaction has breathed new life into the reporters. Ringleader: Jonah Jameson. They’re all asking similar questions, phrased differently, but intent the same. What happened to Lord Barnes’ arm? Why won’t anyone talk about it? Don’t you think you should know? The people have a right to know! Was it foul play? Did his father have something to do with it? His mother? The House? 

Steve ignores them. Ignores the questions and the fact that the only one not up on two feet is his husband. 

“Bucky,” He calls to him, pulling his right hand into both of his. That sparks something inside of Bucky. Body moves, unfreezes just enough for his eyes to glide up to Steve. “Come on. We’re leaving now.”

Bucky’s mouth opens a little. Like maybe it wants to form a word, maybe even a sentence, but just can’t figure out how. So he nods instead. Rises to his feet. He’s trembling. It’s slight, maybe only noticeable because Steve’s so close, but there are quivers running through him. Unprepared and shocked and unable to process. Dazed even when Steve tucks him under his arm. Blocks him off from the questions that are still coming. Steve’s not a violent man, but right now, he’d knock the lights out of Jonah Jameson if could get away with it. 

Steve’s trying to steer Bucky away from them. They follow, showering them with those awful questions. Questions that have sent Bucky somewhere else. 

“Lord Barnes, don’t you think it’s time to…”  
“No!” Steve exclaims. He swirls around, keeps Bucky just behind him. A shield, as best he can be. “You do _not_ speak to him! You don’t _talk_ to my husband, you don’t even _look_ at him!” Bucky’s still close. Close enough Steve can feel him there. “I told you, when setting up this interview that this matter would _not_ be brought up.” They’ve all fallen silent. Pin drop silence that’s snaked around them like a nighttime fog. “My terms were agreed upon. As such, you all entered into a legal, binding contract that _will_ be broken if any of this is mentioned in whatever article you prepare. And if you break it to get whatever big scoop you’re hoping to get, know this, I _will_ see this to Court. Verbal contracts are not the easiest to prove, but I know the laws well and _believe_ me, I will win. And when I do, my victory will see you all jobless. This word we live in is not always too kind to those without jobs, is it?”

Steve’s still dressed in the modern clothes, modern pinched with traditional. He has a suit jacket on, and tugs on the bottom to make sure it’s neat and presentable. 

He says, “Thank you for your time and cooperation. Good day to you all.” Steve wraps Bucky in his arm again. “Let’s go.”

The only sounds left are the echoes of his and Bucky’s shoes bouncing off the walls as they bid the reporters angry farewells.

***

By the time Stiles has the motorcar pulled onto the streets and is taking them home, the shock that rendered Bucky nearly unresponsive has dissolved. Enough so that Bucky must have been met with an onslaught of emotions. There’s a hard look on his face. Cold, angry. He’s shoved in the corner of the bench seat, pressed up against the wall of the cabin as though he’s wishing it would somehow gobble him up and just taking him away from here.

“Bucky…” Steve just wants to do something for him. Anything.  
“I’m fine.” He grumbles. 

Far from fine. Anything but fine. Lying right now, but Steve can hardly blame him. 

“Bucky…” He tries again.  
“I said I’m _fine_ , Steve.”

Steve doesn’t try to talk to him again. His husband needs time, space, even though there is none here, to wrap his mind around everything that just happened. Good day destroyed in the blink of an eye. Explosions that have gone off in every corner of his world. 

Hands aching to reach out and touch him, feel Bucky in his arms, Steve resists. But when they finally reach home, and Bucky won’t even walk with him, Steve knows he needs to do something. 

“Bucky, hey wait a minute.” He says when Bucky starts heading up the stairs. Only Bucky doesn’t stop. Doesn't even pause or hesitate. Keeps right going right up the stairs. “Hey!” Steve doesn’t want to scold. Not now, But this needs to happen. “Don’t you walk away from your husband.”

That makes Bucky stop, right at second to top step. Every muscle in his body is pulled tight. Steve can even see it in his neck.

Gentler, Steve says, “Come back down here.” 

He doesn’t want to, Steve can see that in the way his head lifts just enough that he’s probably eyeing the ceiling. The ceiling is no friend to him. Won’t offer its comfort. Simply wood that means nothing to Bucky, here in a place he never meant to end up in. But he turns, eyes unwilling to meet Steve’s, and does as he’s told. Stays on the bottom step. There’s venom in his gaze. Poison that wants to escape and ravage through anyone that gets in his way, and right now, that’s Steve.

“Look,” Steve says softly. “I know… I mean…” He tries for something different. “You need to know that I’m here for you. If you don’t feel like talking, that’s fine, but… I’m here for you, Bucky.”  
The statement, the offer, it’s barely even been punctuated and Bucky growls, “Can I go now?”

Poison’s in his voice, too. Wants nothing to do with Steve or his offers, none of them. 

Steve sighs, gestures up the stairs. 

“Yes.” He whispers. “Go ahead.” 

No hesitation this time. Bucky turns and storms away. Angry and hateful. Steve winces when the angry slam of the door echoes down at him. Mad, yelling. It’s Bucky’s now and warns him to keep away. 

Steve scrubs hands over his face. Let’s out a groan and heads up the stairs himself. He pauses in the hall, feels Bucky’s door glaring at him. Nothing he can do right now. Pull rank on his husband, sure, he could, but that won’t help. Steve needs to change anyway. To get out of these clothes and have them sent back to the studio.

He takes some time to wash up. Cold water splashed onto hot skin. Steve doesn’t know how to fix this one. No perfect words to be used. Bucky’s told him that he’s never hated him. He can’t be too sure that’ll be the same after today. How could he not hate him? It’s his fault that the interview needed to happen in the first place. Old wounds ripped open because of it. 

Steve’s behind the partition screen in his room. The restroom grew tired of him after he’d spent nearly an hour at the sink. He’s finally changed out of the studio’s clothes, has them folded across his arms as he makes his way over to his dresser.

Something off to the side catches his attention. A shadow in the corner of his eye that makes his heart pound for a moment. He stifles his gasp when he turns to see his husband lingering in the doorway. Venom’s gone. Left behind someone broken and desperate. Skin’s pale, cheeks tearstained. 

“Bucky?”

His eyes flick up just for a breath of a moment. Mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs.

“Okay. Do you… need to ask me again?”

He understands if he does. Understands every time. If Bucky needs to hear him tell him again that he’s not out to use him, Steve will. Only Bucky’s eyebrows pull in. Eyes fixed on the middle of the floor like he’s looking for the answer there.

He shakes his head. Whispers, “No.”

Maybe now’s not the time to feel good, but Steve can’t help it. Bucky’s not worried about that now, even after what’s happened.

“Alright.” They’re still a near full room apart, so Steve drops the clothes he’s been holding on the bed and takes one step closer. Opens his arms. “How about a hug? Will that help?”

Exhaustion crawls all over his husband. Steve can see it in way he weakly lifts his head back up to look at him. Eyes glisten, swimming with tears. Pain and sorrow, rolled up into one intangible look. Instead of answering, Bucky sniffles and comes a little further into the room. Makes it to the corner of the bed before stopping. Too much for him. Steve can’t expect more. Bucky’s given a lot of himself to Steve over the past few weeks. Today he’s been hurt. If it was within Steve’s power, he’d keep his husband in his arms and shield him from ever hurting again. That look in his eyes, the pain in his steps. Lost and hopeless. Steve hates it. 

Hates even more that Bucky’s still unable to let himself go. Understands, but hates it just the same. So he pulls Bucky into his arms. Locks as much of a protective cage around him as he can. 

“I’m sorry…” Bucky whispers, face pressed deeply into Steve’s chest. “I didn’t… I shouldn’t have…”  
“Shh,” Steve stops him. Amazed. First thing Bucky does is apologize for the way he acted. He doesn’t need that though. Not now. “Don’t. We’ll talk about that later.”

He’s answered with a nod of his head. And a gasped sob. Bucky grips onto the back of his shirt.

“Why?” He weeps after several minutes of silent tears. “Why can’t they leave me alone?”  
“I dunno, baby.” Steve murmurs. Why isn’t there something better for him to say? More? Ways to put his husband back together again. “I told them not to. I swear I did.”  
“I heard.” His voice is shaky, breaths still backing up. “Did you… did you mean what you… said?”  
Steve cradles the back of Bucky’s head. “Which part?”  
“I… um… that you’d… take them to Court… if…”  
“If I could, Bucky, I’d take them to Court for what they did today. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I never should have…”  
“Stop, please.” Bucky requests. “You’re not helping.” He rattles his head, still pressed up against Steve. “No I mean… please don’t apologize. I can’t…  
“Okay.” Steve understands. Too much like the beginning. When eyes pitied his husband and whispers followed him. “Tell me what you need. What can I do?”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment. Squeezes his arms tighter around Steve’s body. 

“Tell me what you thought about today.” He says.  
“What I thought about?”  
“Yes.” He wipes his eyes. Glances up at Steve. Weepy and looking for something that maybe only Steve can give. “Do you think it went well?”

Before it was destroyed. Yes. Every bit of it. Bucky might need a distraction. Know that _something_ good came out of all this.

“Yes, Bucky, I do.” Steve tells him. Honest and true. Wipes a few leftover tears trailing down Bucky’s cheeks. “I think it went very well.”

A glimpse of a smile touches Bucky’s face. It might not reach his eyes, barely lifts his mouth, but it’s there.

“So then… I was… I mean… I did good?” He wonders. “Didn’t do all those wrong things?”  
“Nothing wrong.” Steve takes hold of his face. A tender, sweet caress of the thumbs. “You were splendid.”

More of that smile. Creeping up on Bucky’s lips. Shine’s briefly in the ice-blue. 

“Still incredible? Even after…”  
“Always incredible.” Steve murmurs and then whispers into his ear, “Tu étais merveilleux. Parfait, Bucky.”

Bucky makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat. He likes it when Steve speaks French to him, whispers words he doesn’t know. Foreign and could mean anything. Trusts it’s nothing bad. A blush touches Bucky’s cheeks. 

“Steve…”

That may have been the start of some sentence that made sense in his head, but nothing else comes out. 

Steve tilts Bucky’s head towards him, gentle fingers under his husband’s cheek. 

“May I kiss you, Bucky?  
“Да, муж.”

Russian. Steve smiles at the yes he’s received and leans in. Lips against lips. Kisses softly until Bucky chuckles through it.

“I’m not made out of glass, you know.”  
“Hm.” Steve clicks his tongue. “Not one wise ass remark, huh?”

Bucky snickers, remembering one of the things he said during the interview. A question about being on his best behavior. _I’m always on my best behavior_ , he said. Steve had laughed, _Always. Not even one wise ass remark_. Bucky said, _Not from me. Never_. It made Steve laugh again.

“Does it count if it’s true?”  
“Yes!” Steve laughs. Loves when Bucky makes him laugh. “Let’s just see about that, though.”

Permission still granted. He kisses him harder. Pulls him in close, mouth invading his husband’s. Tongue seeks access and Bucky grants it. Let’s Steve take the kiss into his hands. Steve wants more of him so badly. He can feel every inch of his body lighting up with need and desire. Feels the vibrations flow against his mouth when Bucky whimpers. Today is not the day though. Too many emotions. Overflowing and trickling into an area that might be too vulnerable. For both of them.

When Steve pulls away, Bucky seems to follow him a bit. Moves forward like the pull of a magnet. Makes Steve snicker. Pecks those lips once more. Bucky’s eyes open and another blush fills his face.

He laughs. It breaks into something of another brief sob. Just the noise. No more tears.

“Hey…” Steve murmurs. “I’m sorry. Too much?”  
“No.” Bucky assures him, fingertips tracing his own mouth. “Not at all. Just… I don’t know. Today? Everything I guess.”  
“Okay. You’re okay, Bucky.”  
He nods, but his face his strained again. “Steve? I’m… sorry about before…”  
“I told you. We don’t need to talk about it now.”

Bucky moves away just a little bit. Puts a small space between them but stays in Steve’s arms.

“But we do need to talk about it.” He says. Voice hiding something he wants to get out. There’s a struggle going on in his mind. Steve can see the thoughts clashing with one another; one colliding with the next before the first could fully form. All he manages to get out is a quiet, “Please?”

Steve sucks in a deep breath, releases his answer on the exhale.

“Please… okay.”

This is something Bucky needs now. To talk about what he did wrong, make up for it maybe. Waiting will only cause him more pain. Steve nods and sits his husband down on the bed, and stays on his feet in front of him.

“Go ahead.” Steve lets his hands fall from Bucky’s body. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

First response Steve gets is a broken whimper and he thinks maybe he shouldn’t do this. Hadn’t planned on reprimanding Bucky for what happened when they first got home, even if they needed to talk about it. But then Bucky swallows and nods.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. His voice gains volume and courage as he goes on. “I was disrespectful when you were only trying to help.” Bucky chews his lip and continues, “I was angry. That’s not an excuse, I know, but…”  
“Were you angry with me?” Steve asks. 

He just needs to know if Bucky’s placed blame on him for this. Figure out if there’s a way to rebuild what trust he’s gained.

“You, husband?” He shakes his head. Looks like he’s confused by the question and Steve sees no dishonesty on his face. “No? It wasn’t… you didn’t do anything.” Clouds clear from his eyes and Bucky’s mind must reach out to Steve’s. It clicks and his face falls. “Aw, hell, I didn’t it again, didn’t I?” He smothers his face and keeps his hands there. “I made you feel… shit. I’m no good at this, Steve. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Bucky stops the very second Steve’s hand pets once along the top of his head. Those hands hiding his face lower and he peers up at him like he’s surprised at the affection.

“Listen to me,” Steve says, keeping tones firm, but still tender. “I’m never going to get angry with you because you’ve felt something. Your feelings are yours and I’ll never belittle them. But I do need you to understand that you can’t take those feelings out on me. If you need space, privacy, time to work things out in your own head, that’s perfectly fine. I need you to _tell_ me that. And don’t _ever_ walk away from me when I’m trying to talk to you.”

Bucky just gazes up at him for a moment. Breaths caught somewhere between stuck and coming too quick. He nods.

“Yes, Steve.” He murmurs, eyes flicking down to Steve’s hands and then back up again. He does this more than once before adding, “I’m sorry.”

Steve gets it. Knows what his husband is after. Bucky craves physical affection. Wants it, maybe needs it as much as the air around him. Needs to hear that everything is okay now. No hard feelings. Steve lifts the hand that Bucky’s been eyeing and trying to pretend like he’s not. Fits it gently to the side of his husband’s neck. The remaining tension begins to melt away. Stiff shoulders lower. Eyes softly close. He leans into the touch, seeking more. 

“It’s done now.” Steve assures him. Comforts more by caressing the spot beneath his palm. Smooth and warm, working a near-silent, contented moan from his husband’s lips. “Over with. We move on now, okay?”

Bucky makes that soft noise in the back of his throat again. “Mm. Okay, husband.” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “Thank you, Steve.”  
“Now come on.” Steve takes hold of Bucky’s hands, brings him back to his feet. “I’ve had Truvie prepare something special for supper.”

Bucky’s clearly tired as he leans into Steve’s side. The day’s worn him out. Too much, too fast. Knocked down by several things and hastily picked back up with the hopes that Steve’ll be able to help him stand on two feet again. Steve didn’t realize how quickly his husband would look for atonement. Never even crossed his mind that Bucky would be affected by thoughts of Steve being disappointed with him. Silly really. Bucky told him that himself the morning their first real talk. Told him he thought he might be bothered by it, might need to make amends if it ever happened. 

Now it has. Just like the first fallen leaves of autumn. A change that’s natural, an instinct over time; gradual, then suddenly. Season’s decoration, barely even noticeable until that change is made and now that it’s here they’ll adapt and grow with it. 

Steve laughs when they get down to the kitchen and Bucky’s face lights up with wonder and bewilderment at the array of cakes and cookies and sweets he had Truvie make for them. 

“What… what’s all this?” Bucky laughs. “What’s going on?”  
“I promised you a meal of chocolate, did I not?” Steve says. “Well I am a man of my word.”  
“Wait this…” He rattles his head. “This is for… me? Because… all because I played for you? The piano?”  
“Of course, Bucky.” Steve chuckles. “I’m surprised you didn’t smell it when we came in.” He sucks in a deep breath. “The whole place smells great.”  
“Yeah well, I…” He scratches the back of his neck. Awkward. Unsure. “I was too busy being disrespectful. To you, husband. I’m sorry.”

Steve just looks at him for a moment. Silent and still. Bucky’s chin is lowered but guilt lies around the corners of his mouth, turned down and disappointed with himself. 

“Hey, no.” Steve takes him by the shoulders. A gentle, but firm hold that gets Bucky to look up. “We had our talk. Reprimand over.” But that look is still on his husband’s face. Guilt there, winning out over letting this go. “Do you… I’d rather not use Discipline, but if you…” 

Bucky’s eyes go wide. Face pales. But the idea planted has him thinking about it. Steve can see it turning over in his mind. Not all good thoughts. Not all bad either. His head shakes. So slight, so quick that if Steve had blinked he’d’ve missed it. 

“Oh good.” Steve says. Dares to tease, “I would’ve sent you to bed without any supper. What a bad night for that, hm?”

Bucky lets go of an anxious laugh. Fingers hide his face for a moment before he flings his arms around Steve’s waist. Holds steady onto a hug and laughs some more.

“Thank you, husband.” He murmurs into Steve’s side. “I needed that.”

Steve runs his hand across the back of Bucky’s neck. Thumb grazing softly, he can feel his husband shiver from the touch. 

“You’re welcome, Bucky.” He says. “Now come. Let’s eat. You can tell me how _you_ think it went. Okay?”  
“Okay, Steve.”

Yes, they’ll adapt. To each other; to themselves. Yes, they’ll learn. About each other; about themselves. They’ll make this marriage work. Steve needs to. Perhaps more for him than Bucky now. He needs to shower Bucky with love and affection. To spoil him and hold him. To love him. To make and keep all the promises he can. 

Promises of sweets and kisses and hugs and warmth from the cool winds that creep through blankets in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks to my two-year-old thinking it'd be a good idea to play with my computer and deleting a bunch of what I had while I went to the bathroom the other day, the end of the chapter is very different than how I had originally written it. But I actually think it came out a little better this way. But there you have it! This week's updates! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and I'd love to hear from you! As always feel free to leave comments here or if you'd prefer you can always drop by my tumblr [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky)
> 
> If you'd like to see Steve and Bucky's full interview you can check it out in the [DVD Extras!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2653142/chapters/6082460/)
> 
> And for this chapter we have:
> 
> Bucky explaining his feelings on his marriage and Steve's headship
> 
>  
> 
> Getting back from the interview
> 
>  
> 
> Apologizing to Steve for storming away ((in my mind this is after he's settled down and has his cry with his husband. God, how are Sebastian Stan's eyes even real?))
> 
>  
> 
> And finding all the yummy sweets for dinner
> 
>  
> 
> Moving along to Steve answering questions during the interview
> 
>  
> 
> Shocked by the questions about Bucky's arm
> 
>  
> 
> Royal cheesed off and being quite protective of his husband
> 
>  
> 
> And we'll end it will talking things over with Bucky in the bedroom, letting him know that everything is okay between them
> 
>  
> 
> Alrighty! I hope you enjoyed! Next week _should_ also be another double dose. Um... wait, is next week Christmas? What's next week's date? Hang on, lemme go check...
> 
> Oh wow it _is_!! Crap!! Well, to any of my readers who celebrate Christmas have a Happy Christmas and to anyone who's celebrating Hanukkah, happy Hanukkah, and happy holidays to everyone all around! Christmas is super, super busy for me ((tho irl things are really crappy right now so I'm not exactly looking forward to this year, but here's hoping)), but I'll do my best to have an update for you on Friday! Enjoy your week!!


	16. Chapter 16

Middle of the night, dark skies and quiet streets, musical winds blowing across the window. Bucky sits up in the bed, rattles his head and reaches for his pocketwatch on the nightstand. He can’t make out the hands on the face. Too dark in the room. Reaching to the side, he touches only blankets. Wonders where his husband is until he remembers he chose to sleep in his room this night. Good idea at the time. He had just felt the need for some space, time to think, time to convince himself that what he feels for Steve can’t be love. Not yet. Impossible. 

Only now that he’s woke in the dead of night, Bucky wants nothing more than to be in Steve’s room. Pressed up against him, locked in Steve’s thick, muscular arms--strong arms that guide and gently lead and care for and do wonderful things to Bucky’s insides whenever they’re near. 

After a few sleepy moments, Bucky remembers that he was just sleeping. It’s the noises that woke him. Out in the hall. Hushed voices and soft footsteps. Bucky’s not sure if he should get up and investigate or not. But the murmurs go on, and he slips out from under the covers. 

The air is chilly; pulls goose bumps up on his skin, the tiny hairs standing on edge. The soles of his feet recoil at the thought of touching the bit of wooden floor not covered by the welcoming rug. Bucky ignores them and goes to the door. Presses his ear against it.

He hears, “Just tell me if she’s okay.” It’s Steve talking. “And you’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?” Bucky doesn’t hear anyone else. His husband must be on the telephone. There’s only one, and it’s in the small alcove in the wall right across from Bucky’s room. “That’s fine. I’m coming…” Steve pauses, “I don’t care how late it is, I’m coming over.”

Bucky can hear the quiet click when Steve hangs the earpiece back up on the switchhook. His husband’s voice, soft and hushed as it may have been, doesn’t sound right. The second there are footsteps moving back down the hall, Bucky opens the door. Pokes his head out to see Steve hustling back towards his room.

“Steve?”

His voice is weak as the name rises from his throat. Bucky’s nervous. Who was his husband on the telephone with at this ungodly hour? 

“Go back to sleep, Bucky.” Steve says, hard, angry even. 

Instead of listening, Bucky opens the door wider. Steps out into the hall and watches as Steve gets further away.

“But…”

He freezes up, loses whatever he wanted to say the instant Steve stops and turns. The look on his face, that glare directed at Bucky, it makes his insides twist. A hard, painful sensation that has him wondering if he’s done something wrong; something other than not listening just now.

“I told you to go back to sleep.” Steve scolds. “Do as you’re told.”

The air seems to have stopped moving around him, and Bucky can’t feel his pull to the Earth. He’s heard Steve’s directions, heard what he wants him to do, but he can’t move. Legs rendered useless by the hard voice seeping into his muscles and making a mess of them. 

“I…” Bucky thinks that’s his voice. 

No idea why he’s trying to say anything, anything at all when he should be listening. But there’re tears in Steve’s eyes. Unshed, kept locked right where they are, but they’re present. Moisture glistening even in the dim hallway, where shadows have come to play, to leave the world in darkness. Steve’s eyebrows lift; one long, smooth motion. Bucky can hear the warning in them. Do as he’s told. 

“Okay.” He whispers. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

Sliding back into the bedroom, Bucky gently closes the door again. Shuts himself in a place he now wishes he had never come to tonight. All his things are unpacked now, kindly placed with care in a new home. Clothes hanging contently in the closet, trinkets and books winking from their spots on the built-in shelves, photos offering familiar faces from over at his dresser. Bucky can only look at the door, receives nothing by means of solace from it.

Normally, it’s on his side, having taken a liking to Bucky from the very beginning. A support to lean on when he needed it. Tonight, not so much. Tonight, it’s just a dark, brooding presence keeping him locked in here and away from his husband. Something is wrong. Must be very wrong too; even if he was only to catch a glimpse of it, he can tell that much.

_There must be an explanation_. Upset stomach offers.  
Bucky thinks, _Or it… maybe this is…_

Unwelcomed thoughts worm their way into Bucky’s mind. Mean, taunting thoughts that hurt and make him want to run and hide. Images of Steve with someone else. His husband holding the _Her_ he was talking about with whoever he was on the phone with. Sharing kisses and trading happy stories while Bucky sits and waits all alone, wishing for his husband to love him. Steve is hiding something from him. It’s his right, of course; his headship doesn’t need to tell him anything if he doesn’t want to. Has the liberty to do as he pleases, tell Bucky about it only if he so chooses. Can have paramours even if he said he wouldn’t. 

Pain stabs at Bucky’s heart, bubbling up panic and making it hard to breathe. Sure he’s going to burst into tears, he all but screams when the door suddenly swings open. Light from the hall floods through the room, dancing along the floor and caressing the walls gently. The tears stay where they are--pushing right behind his eyes as they try to pry their way out. 

Steve stands there for a moment, chin lowered and fully dressed. Not properly--simple slacks and pull over shirt; white, hugs gently around his torso though it doesn’t look as though Steve feels the affection it has to offer. His husband lifts his gaze. Unsought for apologies are written all over his face. 

“Bucky…” He breathes. Blinks and then comes in, hand seeking the side of Bucky’s face. The relief is immediate. His husband’s soft touch like a warm anesthetic pumping through Bucky’s body. “Get dressed for me, okay?”  
“Dressed? Now? Steve…”  
“Bucky.” Steve is being calm, gentle even, but that tone is demanding. “Do as your husband says.”  
“O-okay, Steve.”

The hand cradling his cheek slips away and Bucky feels oddly unbalanced without it there. Steve wants him to do something, to dress even though it’s late at night, or early morning, and he’s going to listen. Quickly. Is even at his dresser before the thought fully processes. Steve is still standing in the doorway, watching. Eyes telling him to hurry. 

Bucky’s trying. He really is. But he’s shaking, hands making heavy work of something so simple and normal. 

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice shoots through him like thunder. Cracking and booming in unexpected ways. Startles him enough that he almost drops the shirt he’s trying to get on.

“Yes?” He whispers back.  
“I’m not mad at you, okay?” He tells him. “I didn’t mean…” Steve’s eye close. He looks so tired. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”  
Bucky sucks in a deep breath, says on the exhales. “Okay. I… I’m coming.”

Hands steadier, Bucky’s able to throw the shirt on and button it up. He’s still unable to figure out just why the thought of Steve angry with him makes it so difficult to do even the simplest of tasks. It just makes him feel all wrong inside, a stomach turning and heart pounding sensation that makes his skin too tight and the air too hot. Like the other week, the afternoon after their interview, when Bucky needed Steve to give him back that equilibrium by receiving an absolution. Amends sought, made. Wrong doing put behind them. 

He turns when he hears Steve coming towards him, holding his shoes out to him. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs and then loses all coherency when Steve’s hand rests at the base of his neck. 

_You love him._ His heart thinks.   
_I just don’t want him to be upset._ Bucky can’t quite counter his heart this time. _Please, husband, don’t be upset_.

Steve takes his hand away, like he’s just figured out his touch sometimes sends him flying through star dotted skies.

“Put your shoes on.” He whispers. 

Nodding, Bucky sits at the edge of the bed. Quickly ties laces with patient fingers and stands back up as soon as two knots are made. Looks at Steve for further instructions. 

“Come on.” Steve says. “We have to go somewhere. Or…” He pauses and now looks completely unsure of himself. Eyes careworn and face exhausted. “Unless… that’s not… not as your headship… you don’t have to if you don’t…”  
“Do you want me, Steve?” Bucky asks. “Me to come with you?”  
“I… yes, I do.”

Bucky nods and puts his arm out to touch Steve, but pulls back at the last second. 

“Then I’ll come with you, husband.”

Steve sighs, appreciative smile just barely able to twitch on his lips. Lips are tired and eyes are still dark. 

“Thank you, Bucky.”

Since Stiles has gone home for the day, they need to walk to the nearest taxi station. It’s snowing tonight. Soft, diamond flakes drifting quietly to the ground and glistening in the moonlight. There’s a freshness in the air, swirling around them but doing nothing to ease the tension that has attached to Steve. The snow cracking under their feet is the only sound, and it makes the streets seem vast and empty. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

It’s cold enough that Bucky keeps his chin as far into the top of his coat as possible. Scarf wrapped neatly and tucked, gloves on hands shoved deep into pockets, hat pushed down on his head. Bucky still shivers as they near the end of their twenty minute walk to the station. As soon as the stall is visible, Steve throws his arm up in the air.

“We need a carriage to the Isle!” He calls out, the snow absorbing his voice.

A man pokes his head out of the glassless window, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. 

“Right away, m’Lord.” He answers and then fiddles with the wires of the switchboard to call a carriage around. 

The horses round the corner first and as soon as they’re visible, Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s back, guiding him towards the carriage so they don’t need to wait any longer. Bucky desperately wants to ask Steve what’s going on. Why in the world would they be going to Manhattan Isle at this time? But Steve looks far too distracted; body here, mind in an entirely different place altogether. 

It takes over an hour to get to their destination. Long minutes ticking away in maddening silence. They’re headed down a block in the Lower East Side full of restaurants and cafes, little shops and even a Nickelodeon when Steve tells the cabbie to stop. 

“Driver, we’ll get out here.” He says, a burst of frost coming out of his mouth with the words.   
“Here, m’Lord?” The cabbie wonders, already pulling on the reins to slow the horses. “Are you sure? I can take you…”  
“Here is fine.” Steve replies flatly, already fishing through his wallet for payment.  
“As you wish, m’Lord.”

Even Bucky can’t hide his surprise that they’re getting out in this very random spot. Everything is closed. No one is around. Even all the lampposts have been put out. Still, he follows his husband down the snow covered street.

“Steve?” Bucky whispers. “Where’re we…”  
“Just around the corner.” He answers. “I didn’t want…” Steve squeezes his mouth closed, swallows hard. Bucky thinks he might be trying to keep from crying. Tries again. “I didn’t want the cabbie to know where we were going.”  
“Why?”

Only Bucky doesn’t need Steve to answer. They’re turning the corner now anyway and he knows. Sees the House of Rogers’ emblem on the second building across the street. If the driver recognized them, Steve didn’t want him knowing where they were headed at this late hour. The House Rogers’ building is six stories tall, made completely out of dark stone. Huge arched windows peer out at anyone passing by, currently watching Bucky and Steve as they approach. A black, cast iron gate wraps around it, vines of ivy crawl up it and around the big, double wooden doors. 

Steve barely even slows as he swings the gate open. It collides with the rest of the fence, getting out a painful hiss when it hits. Bucky feels bad for it so he closes it gently behind him. The doors open before Steve is at the first step. 

“Lord Rogers,” a woman greets. A housemaid, so far as Bucky can tell, given her uniform. “The doctor is still here. In the upstairs drawing room, sir.”  
“Thank you, Frances.” Steve mutters as he hurries past her.

Bucky thinks the housemaid, Frances, might give him some sort of greeting, but he’s too busy trying to keep up with Steve. He goes straight up to the second floor, up a huge wooden staircase fitted with dark rug that does nothing to make the walk seem more pleasant. There are several people standing out in front of the room Steve is headed for. Bucky doesn’t recognize any of them, but one notices Steve. A doctor, white coat on and stethoscope around his neck. 

“Steve,” He says. “Stay calm, all right?”  
“Bruce,” Steve shakes his head, as though the advice is completely illogical. “What happened?”  
“She woke up having trouble breathing. Got tough enough that your father phoned me.” Bruce explains. 

It takes Bucky seeing the pin on the lapel of his lab coat--a fist holding a Caduceus--for him to realize this is Dr. Bruce of the House Banner. He’s a soft spoken man, going on to explain a few more things to Steve that Bucky doesn’t understand. Something about machines and oxygen and radiation. 

“Can I see her?” Steve asks.  
“Of course…” Bruce’s eyes drift to where Bucky’s standing, just a bit behind and off to the side of Steve. “It’s just…”

Oh. He doesn’t want Bucky to go in to see whatever’s going on. Bucky can’t begin to imagine what that means. There’s a strange ache in Bucky’s chest; hurt that this man, who doesn’t know him at all, would regard him as someone unworthy. What does that say about him; Society’s Sweetheart? What could possibly be behind these doors?

But Steve glances over his shoulder as though he’s suddenly remembered that he hasn’t come here alone. Bucky meets his gaze; wonders if he appears as nervous as he feels, wonders if maybe Steve regrets the decision to bring him along. His husband turns back to the doctor.

“This is my husband, Bruce.” He remarks, voice off, but still holding that authoritative control. “I trust him.”

This isn’t the time. It’s not. There’s something very wrong going on here, and yet, an honored grin pulls up on Bucky’s mouth. Steve’s sunlight, which seems to have gone missing, warms him, pulses through his very veins as though blood’s been replaced with sun. 

“Oh no, it’s not…” Bruce rattles his head. “I only meant that perhaps you should… warn him? This isn’t…” He sighs and then looks at Bucky, giving full attention to him for the first time. “My apologies, Lord Barnes.” He says. “I didn’t mean to speak of you as though you’re not present. It’s just… this is a delicate manner.”  
“You can call me Bucky.” He answers Bruce, realizing a full second later that his name should be the least of his worries. Brain not listing priorities correctly. “Um, what’s…” Bucky looks to Steve, “What’s going on?”  
“Bucky, it’s… I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s, um, different. There’s a lot of machines and… I…” Steve trails off when his face crumples. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain.”

He holds his hand out and Bucky gives him his left. Let’s metal fingers, which are probably too cold from the chill outside, lace with Steve’s. Steve likes when Bucky let’s him hold his left hand. Gives him what Bucky can’t say with words. Steve wipes at his eyes, though there’s nothing to clean away. Bruce opens the door for them and Bucky does all he can to hold in the gasp. 

The room is full of big, metal machines. Three of them, two so large they occupy most of the space. Made of copper and brass, the gears and pressure gages working on the outsides of them, the smallest of the machines is running, a soft humming noise rising from it. There’s someone kneeling at it, pouring water into one of the valves. Powering it, Bucky thinks. The running machine eyes him warily. Doesn’t like him already. 

Bucky’s so busy watching it, keeping his guard up against it, that he fails to see exactly what it’s doing. Not until Steve lets go of his hand and rushes over to it. Only he’s not going to the angry machine. Steve’s going to the person the machine is hooked on. 

“Mom…” He breathes out as he drops to his knees at the side of the sofa she’s laying on. “Are you…”  
“Oh, Steven…” She says through a clear mask over her mouth, thick tube connecting it with the machine. Sounds like a light wind is coming out of it. “You didn’t need to come.” Lady Rogers smiles and rolls her eyes. Looks quite scandalized when she takes note of Bucky, now just standing in the spot Steve’s left him at. “And you dragged your new husband out, too? In this weather?”  
“Mom, don’t worry about that. How’re you feeling?”  
“Just as I told your father,” Who’s currently standing behind the sofa she’s on, fingers running through his wife’s hair. “I’m perfectly fine.”  
Lord Rogers scoffs, “You could barely breath earlier, Sarah.”  
“But I’m fine _now_ , Joseph.”

They go on with their loving bickering, Steve joining in with his father’s scolding. Saying things like she needs to take this seriously and to listen to Dr. Banner, all the while she goes on waving them off as though their words and concerns are more worrisome than they need to be. Bucky just stands there, watching, absorbing the love the three of them have for another, while his mind finally decides to put everything together.

Sarah Rogers is ill. Very ill from the looks of it. The woman who was at his wedding less than three months ago, lively and vivacious, rosey cheeks and a smile for everyone is pale and weak, still smiling, but there’s exhaustion behind the grin. 

Steve’s said nothing about this. Made no indication, maybe other than their _Frankenstein_ incident, that there was anything remotely wrong with anyone. With good reason, even if it does hurt a little. Lady Rogers is still holding her position in Parliament, and if the Courts find out how sick she is, they’ll force her out. Sound mind compromised. There can be dire consequences for hiding something like this. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Rogers was also removed from his seat, even if only temporarily. Similar reasons. A distracted mind. If he’s busy with taking care of a dying spouse, how can he concentrate on his responsibilities? 

“It was just a bad night, Steve.” She tries to assure him, running thin hands gently across his cheek. “Yesterday was fine. We went out to dinner. Isn’t that right, Joseph?”  
“Yes, Sarah.” Lord Rogers chuckles. “We did.” He sighs. “Steve, it’s a bad night. These are going to happen.”  
“I know, I know.” Steve dips his head down, rests it on Lady Rogers’ shoulder. “I just… I couldn’t stay home. Not knowing, or knowing. I’m sorry, Mom.”  
“Shh,” She soothes, stroking her palm over his head as he nuzzles into her arm. Trembling. Steve’s trembling. “It’s okay, honey.”

There’s an awful pit blooming in Bucky’s stomach. Steve’s been dealing with this all on his own, suffering inside while Bucky’s been giving him a hard time and concerning himself only with his own distress. No stranger to how terrible and shattering it is to lose a parent, Bucky’s not sure what’s worse. His father died suddenly, yes, but there was no suffering. At least, that’s what the doctors say. It happened fast, one moment he was here, the next he was gone. But Steve… 

Steve has to watch it all happening. Long, drawn out process. Death taking His time with Lady Rogers, turning daylight into darkness and caring not for all those He’s hurting along the way. 

Bucky just stands there and watches, listens as they talk for over an hour. A forgotten new piece of Steve’s life that no one really wanted around. Steve gives his mother water and holds her hand and doesn’t cry. 

“Um, pardon the interruption,” That’d be Bruce and he’s coming in the room, passing by Bucky as though he didn’t notice him there. “I think I should take one more round of vitals,” He puts his medical bag down next to Steve’s legs. “If everything is still good, we can call it a night.”  
“Okay, that’s fine.” Lord Rogers agrees, guiding Steve away from the spot next to his mother. “Come on, Steven, let Dr. Banner work.”

Steve is looking at Lady Rogers as though he’s terrified to let go of her, that maybe Death will swoop in and take his place if he does. But his mother pats his thigh and he nods. Gets up and Bruce gets to work. It only takes a few minutes for him to declare that she’s still stable, but he wants her to keep the oxygen mask on for the next twenty four hours as a precaution.

“It can’t hurt,” He says as he packs his supplies back into his bag. Bruce says to Lady Rogers, “Just take it easy for the next few days.”  
“You have me off my feet tomorrow, Bruce,” She comments, her voice taking on some quality to it, “That’s what you get out of me. I’m going back to work the following day. There’re people who need me there; people who are counting on me. I’m not about to let them down just because of this.”

Hm. Looks like Steve takes after his mother a lot. That look in her eyes, the tone of her voice, the pull on her lips--Bucky’s seen traits of that in Steve. Even her refusal to stay in bed in order to help other people despite the effect it’ll have on her body; it all screams Steve. Bucky would laugh if it was appropriate. 

“Mom, when are you going to start listening to the doctors?” Steve asks.

She beams up at him, jesting evident on her face before she even responds. 

“Whenever you do, Steven.”

Steve’s mouth drops open. He gawks at her for a moment, jaw flapping a bit as though trying to get something out to counter that.

“I… I’ve…” Steve’s lips pull into a smirk. “Okay, fine. You got me. Happy?”  
“Very.” She smiles. Happy indeed.  
“Come on, Bruce.” Lord Rogers says. “We’ll walk you out.”

By that he must mean he and Steve since Steve goes out with them. They step around Bucky like he’s simply a part of the room. Furniture, a constant object that’s become a permanent fixture and means nothing. Obsolete in this hard time. 

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s staring after them. The doors, cream-colored with floral designs painted in the center, are closed again. 

“Bucky?”

He twirls around, almost startled by the sound of his name. Lady Rogers is smiling at him. Sweet and welcoming. 

“Yes, Lady Rogers?”   
“They’ll be gone for a little bit. Gonna talk to Bruce for a while.” She pats the spot on the couch Steve had been on. “Would you join me?”  
“Oh um…” Her eyes are just as warm and endearing as her son’s. It’s not that he _wants_ to refuse her. It’s just… what does he say to her? “Sure.”

Bucky sits down. Bottom at the very edge of the cushion, back stiff and shoulders squared.

“I’m so sorry my son dragged you out here tonight.” She tells him, smile still on her face.   
“Oh, no, Lady Rogers, my husband didn’t drag me here,” He assures her. “I wanted to come.”  
“Couldn’t have expected this, I’m sure.” She laughs, whole face lighting up with it. “I know Steve hasn’t told you anything about it. And you don’t need to call me Lady Rogers.”  
“No, ma’am, he hasn’t said anything.”  
“Sarah.”  
“Excuse me?”  
She smiles again. “You can call me Sarah.”  
“Oh. Sorry, ma’am. I mean…” Bucky rattles his head, eyes closed. What is wrong with him? “I’m sorry. Sarah.”

He’s trying not to look at her. Which is probably worse than staring at her. Bucky would know. 

“It’s okay, Bucky. You can ask.”

Damn. He didn’t mean to be that obvious about it. Looks like he can’t even heed his own advice.

“I…” Throat feels dry and tight. Painfully so. “What’s… wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?” Sarah must see the apology on his face but doesn’t let him get it out. She doesn’t look insulted anyway. “Nothing. I’m just dying.” She laughs again. Laughs as though she and Death are sharing some inside joke together. “I’m really not that different from you. I just have insider information on how soon it’ll happen.”

Bucky can’t help but snicker at that. He settles back a bit more on the couch. Glances out at all the mean looking machines in the room.

“Ah,” Sarah says. “You’d like to know more about that, hm?”  
“Only if that okay, ma’am. Sarah. Sorry.”  
Sarah gives him a patient smile. “Bruce says it’s abnormal cell growth. Cancer.”

That word feels like poison. Cancer. There’s very little means to even help with that, to help make her comfortable as it eats away at her body. 

“And what…” It hurts to speak, to force the sentences up his throat. “The machines?”  
“Ah, yes. The House of Stark and the House Banner came up with the design. The idea is that one right there,” She points to the one closer, “is to, well, bluntly put, help my body start over. Wipe it clean, so to speak. And that one,” The one behind the couch, “uses a form of radiation that Bruce studied in order to kill the bad cells.”  
“Does it… work?” Bucky asks.  
“So far? It’s helped over the past two years.”

Two years? This poor woman has been going through this for two years? And Steve? He’s been hiding this all that time? Watching his mother and Death becoming better and better acquainted. All of them risking so much so that she can continue with her life as normal as possible. 

“But between you and me,” Sarah goes on to say, “I’m getting very tired. Not so sure how much longer it’ll work for. I think my husband knows that. Steve, too. He’s still hoping, though, I think. Even if he know there is none.” She pauses for a moment. Looks as though she’s reflecting on her two favorite people. “But, more importantly, how is Steve behaving? He’s treating you well? You just say the world and I’ll raw his hide like it’s nobody’s business.”

She makes him laugh again. Just the thought of Steve being yelled at by his mother is humorous. Not to mention, Sarah claims how he’s being treated by her son is more important than her illness. Really, Bucky sees so much of his husband in her.

“He is, ma’am. Sarah.” He says.   
She reaches behind her and pulls out a newspaper. “So this isn’t full of lies?”

Holding it up for him, Bucky sees that it’s the article containing their interview and photoshoot. He chuckles. The article is so popular it’s been reprinted every week since it’s first run. People have been talking about it, mostly good, some bad, but the bit of backlash was to be expected after the article stressed how the differences in the way Steve is running their marriage has no negative impact on his ability to be a proper headship. That straying from tradition doesn’t mean upheaving it.

“No, ma’am. It wasn’t a lie. Steve treats me wonderfully. I…” Bucky blushes, considers not saying this at all, but figures it’ll make her feel good and goes for it. “I think you and Lord Rogers did a good job. Thank you for letting Steve take me under his headship.”

Sarah starts laughing again. She has a wonderful laugh. Full of life and just flat out happy. Nothing underneath it. She laughs with her heart.

“As if we could stop him.” She shakes her head with that smile still on her mouth, eyes seeing something that Bucky can’t. A memory, perhaps. “He’d be so embarrassed if I told you, but…”  
“What are mothers for, right?” He teases.  
“Exactly,” Sarah pats his knee. “When you were voted Society’s Sweetheart, Steve ended up buying almost every paper with your interviews. Bought new reels with them, too. I think he’s had a bit of a crush on you.” When Bucky’s face turns all red, she stretches her lips, trying to keep in another smile. “Oh, dear, I didn’t embarrass you, did I?”  
He chuckles, hides his shy grin. “No, ma’am, you didn’t.”  
“Well, I suppose Steve having a crush on you isn’t much consolation. I’m sure lots of people have had crushes on you. Isn’t that right?”  
“Um…” The blush in his cheeks gets deeper, darker, almost burns. “I think so. Maybe.” He glances at her through his eyelashes. “You liked the article then?”

Sarah looks down at the paper now settled comfortably on her lap. Her fingers trail over the last photograph of them. Just the two of them facing each other. Two matching smiles. 

“You look happy.” She says. “Both of you. And the interview? It took my breath away. A lot of people have been talking about it.”  
“Is that…” Worry climbs through him. As a part of Parliament, Sarah is privy to more conversations that he is, “Is that good?”  
“Oh yes. Well… _I_ believe so. Some people are happy with how you’ve presented your marriage as a relationship rather than a business to be run. Not everyone of course. Some Houses see it as a mockery of Societal tradition. Not that you have a developing relationship, mind you, but rather, that my son is allowing the relationship to take precedence over tradition.”

Bucky’s no stranger to those thoughts. There have been a few articles that have countered theirs. Most of which have featured Alexander Pierce. In response, other Houses have come out in support of the House of Pierce’s desire to take a tighter hold on tradition and Societal values.

“You don’t? Do you?”  
“Oh not at all. It’s a huge help with the Tolerance and Acceptance Act my husband and I have been trying to push through.”

That’s the second time Bucky’s heard mention of such an act--the photographer, Peter, brought it up--though he still doesn’t know what it is.

“What is the… Tolerance… and... what is it?”  
“The Tolerance and Acceptance Act? It, well, we’re hoping it’ll loosen the reins on what is and isn’t acceptable by Society. No need for Houses to be torn apart because of one member’s career choice or for marrying someone below Society or for their desire to study the arts or for being sick or disabled.”

Bucky wonders if it would be out of line to hug this woman. Alexander said the House Rogers were a charming family. He meant it as an insult. Alexander Pierce knows nothing about this family. Not really. Sarah Rogers might be ill now, might have fought tooth and nail to raise an ill and disabled child, but those aren’t her only motives behind trying to push through this sort of reform to Society. She truly desires to see change. Wants to make the world a better place for the people in it. Believes it can be better.

“I’ve never heard of it.” Bucky whispers.

Not all that unusual. Bucky’s not the most updated on political practices and reform. 

“No, you wouldn’t have. It’s been kept pretty quiet. Keeps getting brushed under the rug. We keep on bringing it back out though.” She explains. “But Steve is in support of it. So really, it doesn’t surprise me that he feels such ways about his marriage. Or well, I knew he had very strong ties with friendship and love when he was little. Would you like to see your husband when he was little?”  
“I… what?” Bucky’s never heard something quite so tempting before. “Yes?”

Once again Sarah laughs. Seems another trait Steve got from his mother. The ability to laugh. A nice sound.

“Over there, in the drawer on the bottom of the bookshelf.”

Bucky nods, goes over to that spot and pulls open the drawer. The things inside rattle a bit, and a little, blissful jolt shoots through his body when he sees several Super 8 film reels. 

“The one marked ‘Steve Fourteen’. The projector is on the shelf behind me. You…” Sarah rattles her head. “I’m sorry. Do you know how to use one?”  
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Bucky, in fact, did not have a projector in the home he grew up in. But he learned how to use one in the library when he was informed of his engagement. Spent hours in a private viewing room scouring his husband’s interviews. 

He laughs when the movie starts playing. There on the screen, splayed across the wall, is a young, skinny version of his husband. Long and lanky, bones sticking out under his skin, tufts of dark blonde hair unwilling to fall neatly on his head. It appears to be summertime when this was taken and Steve is wearing swim trunks, that are pretty much swimming on him. Ironic. He’s running, or, at the very least, _trying_ to run, with Peggy Carter and Tony Stark. They’re at the House Rogers’ farmhouse. 

“Wait up, guys!” Little Steve calls out right before his legs fall out from under him and he falls flat on his face. 

Bucky gasps while watching. An unbelievable itch to jump into the film to help him back up to his feet swells inside of him.

_Do something!_ His hands plead.  
 _I… can’t. It’s not happening now._

From next to him, Sarah stifles a giggle and on the screen, Peggy and Tony have hurried back over to Steve before whoever’s holding the camera could get to him. 

“Steve!” Peggy shouts.  
“I’m fine.” Steve insists as he lifts himself out of the dirt. 

He inspects his palms, abrasions clear even from where Bucky watches in another time. Cuts on his knees. Chest covered in filth that Steve tries to brush off without making it obvious. 

“Hey, kid, sorry,” Tony says, just as loud as Peggy had and Bucky realizes Peggy hadn’t just been shouting. Steve’s not wearing his hearing aids. They’re speaking louder for him. “We didn’t mean…”  
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Steve maintains, even as he pulls out his inhaler and breathes with it. “Don’t worry about me.”  
“Steven,” The cameraman says and Bucky thinks it’s Lord Rogers. A hand reaches forward, fingers touching the side of his neck. Steve looks annoyed but doesn’t move. “Heart’s pounding hard, buddy. Maybe you should take a rest.” When Steve shakes his head, he adds, “It’s okay to take it easy. You gotta give your body a break.” He sighs when Steve rolls his eyes, though, to give Steve some credit, he tries super hard to hide it. “Why don’t we go back inside for now? Save swimming for later?”

Both Peggy and Tony seem perfectly content with that idea, nodding and giving soft ‘okay’s’ and ‘yeah, Steves’. Steve, however, is most definitely _not_ okay with it. His mouth falls open, an indignant huff breaking from his nose when he snaps it closed again.

“Da-ad!” He outright whines. “No! Why? I’m fine! I said it! I’m fine!”  
“Steven, don’t argue with your father.”   
“But, but!” Steve slams his arms across his chest. Even stomps his foot. Bucky laughs. “That’s not fair!”

Bucky can hear Lord Rogers trying to hold in a chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’ll make a deal with you.” Steve immediately drops his temper tantrum and gives his father his attention. Big blue eyes wide and innocent. “We’ll go down to the lake, but you three need to _walk_ and take your _time_. And no rough housing once we’re there, got it?”

“Yes, yes!” Steve readily agrees, big, cheesy smile on his face. “I promise.” He then swirls around to sprint away, only to get a few paces, stop and give his father an impish grin. “Sorry, Dad.”  
Lord Rogers groans. “What’m I going to do with you, Steven?”  
“It’s okay, Dad!” Steve tells him as they all start walking again, Peggy and Tony kicking rocks along the way. “You know, you wanna know why, Dad?”  
“Why, Steve?”  
“Cause even the smallest star shines bright in the darkness.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. Jaw dropping open, the rest of what’s happening in the film seems to fade away. That… that’s what he said to him. _He_ taught that to Steve. At the New Years’ Gala all those years ago. That’s how much that moment meant, means, still means maybe, to Steve. Enough that he repeated Bucky’s words to his own father. 

“This was a few days before his procedure.”

Sarah’s voice pulls Bucky back to her. He has to blink a few tears away, tears he didn’t realize were there, before he looks at her.

“What?”

She nods her head towards the movie. Steve, Peggy and Tony are at the lake now, and Steve is sitting on some rocks at the edge of it. Long and gangly, legs hanging in the water while Tony and Peggy splash him from further in. 

“That’s why we were all here.” She explains. “That weekend. Dr. Erskine was coming in to do the procedure on Steve.” 

Bucky’s stomach hurts. Seems she knows that Steve’s told him about this. Sarah doesn’t even bat an eye at it. She trusts him that easily. All Bucky can think about now is Alexander.

_I didn’t tell him that part._ He whispers to the guilt. 

“I’m only paying a price now.” Sarah then says. “It’s time to pay my dues.”

He blinks a few times. Long enough silence passes that it’s a tad bit uncomfortable, but Sarah allows him to decide whether or not to ask. 

“I don’t… understand?” Bucky says.  
“So many nights I spent awake at Steve’s bedside, watching him so ill we weren’t sure if he was going to make it. I was always bargaining with the Lord to take me instead of my son. I prayed so hard to make him healthy. Told death it could have me if Steve could stay.” For the first time since arriving, there are tears in Sarah’s eyes. “I got my wish. Dr. Erskine made my son healthy. Now it’s time for me to pay the price.”

Nothingness. That’s all Bucky can feel. No words or thoughts or even real emotions. All he can do his stare. Because for everything Sarah Rogers just said, there’s not one ounce of regret or bitterness. She believes, believes with her whole heart, that if this is a sacrifice to be made, it’s well worth it. 

“Sarah…” Bucky whispers, though he has no comfort to offer. “I…”  
“I’m not scared for myself, Bucky.” She tells him. Adds a squeeze to the hand he didn’t even realize she was holding. “But I am for my son. He… your husband, he’s a good man. He wants to see the world be the bright place he believes it can be. But he carries it all on his own.”

Yes. Steve does do that. Bucky’s seen it, firsthand. Steve is perfect, but Steve is far from perfect. 

Right words, right touches. Knows when to hold Bucky, when not to. Has let him cry on his shoulder and is turning him into an entirely different person and Bucky’s learning to let himself be excited to meet whoever it is he becomes. 

And he’s enjoying learning more about his husband. What makes him laugh, what makes him blush, what makes him angry. Because for all his perfections, Steve’s also lost his temper before and held in secret frustrations. Carried the world on his shoulders without even considering letting someone else share the burden. 

Steve knows, probably more than anyone Bucky’s ever met, the value of hard work, of perseverance--even bordering on the side of stubbornness--in the face hardship. It’s been etched into his soul like a scar, remaining there forever. A constant reminder of what he thought he was and hopes never to be again--a monster to burden the world. Perhaps that’s why he won’t let anyone help him now. He’s used up his life’s quota in his mind. 

“Bucky, I…” Sarah’s voice is quiet now. Weak. Fears overpowering the strength. “I know this isn’t where you wanted to be.”  
“Be? What do you…”  
“Married. To my son. Under his headship. I know it’s not what you expected. Not what you or the House of Barnes had planned for your life. But I’m wondering if maybe… if it’s at all possible, maybe you can get to know Steve well enough that he won’t feel the need to face the world on his own?”

Tears rush to Bucky’s eyes. They climb over each other, pushing and colliding for the chance to get out first. So many things come to his mind. Too many. He can’t sort through it all. He wants to tell her yes. He wants to tell her that he’s sorry for giving Steve a hard time. He wants to tell her that Steve really has inspired him to desire having his husband to be his headship, that he wants to be good for him, be the spouse Steve deserves. 

Three other words as well. Sitting there. Right on his tongue. Three words he wants to tell her. Tell her because he just might very well mean them.

Bucky even opens his mouth. The doors open as well; tell him to be quiet. Don’t give him a chance to say any of the thoughts scattered in his distracted mind. Steve and Lord Rogers have returned.

“Mom!” Steve exclaims when he catches a glimpse of what’s being projected on the wall.   
Sarah laughs. “What’d you expect me to do? I was bonding with my new son.”

Steve scrubs hands over his face. Groans. A tired, drawn out sound. Albeit quite amused. Bell chiming harmoniously in an otherwise horrid song.

“And you couldn’t think of another way to go about such a thing?” He grumbles. Steve meets the image of himself with a scowl and a grimace when little him almost trips over his own two feet. “I mean, really, this just doesn’t feel like an appropriate form of bonding.”  
“I find it perfectly appropriate.” Sarah counters. “I think your husband would agree as well. Isn’t that right, Bucky?”

Two pairs of ocean blue eyes land on him as both his husband and his new mother wait for Bucky’s answer. A slight whimper quivers in his throat. One person he’s supposed to answer to, the other just as sweet as can be even when hand-in-hand with Death. But then, he _does_ owe Sarah an answer.

So he says, “Yes, ma’am.” Ignores his husband’s scandalized mumbling and repeats, after taking a gentle, yet noticeable grip on her hand and hopes it’s enough to convey his meaning, “Yes ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! For anyone who celebrated anything I hope your holidays were nice! If Santa came hope you got some nifty new things :) 
> 
> Right, so I was only going to post one chapter cause this week was so busy and the highlight of Christmas was that the house didn't burn down ((seriously, that was a legit concern, but woo hoo it didn't happen!!)) but I'm taking the risk and posting two anyway and hoping that I can catch up and get ahead of myself like I want. Here's hoping right?! :D So this is the first chapter of another double dose ((which may be the last for a little while so I can play catch up)) but I hope you liked this and go on ahead and check out the next chapter if you'd like! 
> 
> But first...
> 
> Let's get a look at Bucky when Steve yells for him to go back into his room
> 
> When Bucky first gets into the room with Steve and sees all the machines there for Sarah
> 
> And then Bucky talking with Sarah
> 
> Moving on, we have Steve when Bucky first questions his instructions to go back to bed
> 
> Steve waiting for Bucky while he gets dressed
> 
> And that patent Steve Rogers' smile through his pain when he's with Sarah
> 
> Of course we have Bruce explaining what was going on this night to Steve and that maybe he'll want to prepare Bucky for what to expect
> 
> So there you go! One chapter down this week, one more to go!


	17. Chapter 17

Something just transpired between his husband and his mother. Steve can see it. Unspoken words as he stands there ignored. He has no idea what that could be about. No way to begin to figure it out even. That call that woke him in the middle of the night, harsh sounds seeping into his dreams to rip him from his sleep, is still buzzing through his body. Small shivers pass through him, unnoticeable to eyes around him. Steve can simply feel it. Feel the dread and terror that those words _your mother had trouble breathing_ pumping through him. 

“Steven?”

He glances up at the sound of his name. Foreign and wrong, it sounds strange to his hazy mind. Even after all of Bruce’s constant reassurances that tonight was not the night, that, yes, his mother would see at least another Christmastide, ring in one more New Year, Steve’s heart feels shredded and unwhole. It hurts.

“Yes?” Steve replies to whoever called him. Mom or Dad, he’s not quite sure.  
“It’s late.” Mom. “Why don’t you take your husband home? Get some rest?”  
“Your mother’s right, son.” His father concurs with an added pat to Steve’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do here.”  
“Because… because you’re…” His voice comes out in broken whispers. Weak and lost in purple hues of nighttime darkness. “You’re okay now.”

His mother lets out a contented sound and opens her arms. Warm and inviting, always a welcoming sight. Steve lowers himself again, drops to his knees and lets his mother wrap her thin arms around his much too large torso. She used to be able to gobble him up in her embrace, right up until the end of the film strips still running. He’s still a perfect fit. Maybe not physically, but in every other way. Familiar hands that run comfort down his back, a tender kiss at the side of his neck.

“I’m okay for now, Steve.” She assures him. “You’re still stuck with me. Now go home. Get some sleep.”  
Head brushed up against her shoulder, Steve nods. “Okay. I’ll phone you tomorrow though.”  
“I’ll expect it.”  
“I love you.” He murmurs into that shoulder, still warm, still right.  
“I love you, too, honey.” She says, nudging him gently back to his feet. “Now go on.”

He nods. Takes a few foggy moments to say some parting words with his father and starts for home. A part of him remains though. He’s sure of it. Just like the few other times he’s raced from the comfort and warmth of his bed in these dead of night scares. Only to be assured that time was still friendly. Ticking away slowly. Tick, tock, tick. But still ticking. 

Something soft and warm touches his hand. Steve’s fingers pull away. Turn in and tighten before he remembers he did not return to his childhood home alone. His husband is with him. Offering comfort the only way he can. Steve doesn’t take it. Can’t. This is the sort of thing he’s used to doing on his own. Has been for two years and can’t just suck Bucky into his pain and misery now. 

Steve doesn’t remember the drive home. Knows there was a drive though, because the main staff of the House of Rogers and their families live in the top floor of the House Rogers’ building, and that includes their driver, Bernard. 

“You can go back to bed.” He mumbles to his husband when they’re inside again. Nothing feels real. Never does on nights like this. “I’m sorry I dragged you out for no reason.”

Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on him. Can feel how close he is. One hand comes closer but pulls back at the last second like earlier. 

“I… that’s okay, husband.” Bucky replies softly. Like he means it. Maybe he does. Steve’s not sure. Not processing things clearly at the moment. “I wanted to be with you.”  
“Mm.” Steve nods. Can’t think of anything to say. Nothing’s in his head. Brain turned to mush. “Go back to bed now.”  
“Do you…” He stops. Hesitates, but says, “I can come up with you? If you’d… I’d like to be with you, Steve.”  
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m going down to work. You just go upstairs.”  
“You’re going to work _now_? Steve, don’t you think…”  
“Not now, Bucky.”  
“But…”

Steve just huffs and stalks off. He can’t listen to his husband right now. Doesn’t want to. Nothing would sink in anyway. 

He needs to lose himself in a world that actually makes sense. Where nothing else exists but him and lines and colors and shapes and shades. A place that he can slip away from all the things that want to pull him down, step all over him. 

The big, brass key is in the door. Bulky and comforting. A key to a place that will always be his. Two clicks echo loudly in the hall. Click, click. Greeting Steve. Telling him it’s all going to be okay.

“Steve?”

He freezes, hand wrapped around the doorknob. Gaze whips over at his husband standing just a few feet away. Seconds later and the door would have been open. 

“Bucky!” He exclaims. Not tonight. Steve can’t do this. Not tonight. “I _told_ you…”  
“This isn’t fair!” Bucky shouts back. “You can’t do this!”  
“Can’t do this?” Steve rattles his head. One humorless laugh rises in the back of his throat. “I think you’ll find that I can.”  
Bucky looks confused. “You said you wouldn’t. You promised.”

Steve rubs fingers into his eyes. Tries desperately to pull the hurt and anger out of them. 

“Please, I can’t do this tonight.”  
“Then let me _help_ you, husband!” He pleads. “Society has prepared me for you and so I will ever strengthen, help, comfort, and encourage you, right?” Bucky recites part of the vows he pledged on their wedding day. “You can’t ask it of me, ask me to let you take care of me but shut me out when you need it.”  
“I don’t _need_ you to take care of me!” Too fast. Too harsh. His voice comes out like a stone scraping against his heart. Unrecognizable to his own ears. “I’ve been dealing with this on my own for two years, Bucky! I can get by on my _own_.”  
“Yeah, yeah, I know you can…” Bucky’s voice is soft, calm. Complete opposite of Steve’s. “Thing is…” He reaches out. Once again thinks better of touching him. “You don’t _have_ to. I’m with you now.”  
“Oh, right,” Steve scoffs. “You’re with me.” The words are dripping with sarcasm. “Is it because you _want_ to be with me, Bucky? Is that why you’re here? Because you _want_ to be?” 

Bucky’s face goes white. All color draining. Pale and translucent skin. “I… Steve…”

“No. You don’t, do you? You never wanted to be here.” Steve growls. “This is all means _nothing_ to you! I know it. _You_ know it.”

It’s like he can’t help it. The words are just coming out. Unnecessarily cruel. 

“But… I…” Those eyes of his are impossibly wide. Pleading for him to stop. “Please, Steve…”  
“What, Bucky? You _don’t_ want to be here. Don’t you think I know that? You’ve made that _abundantly_ clear. Made it clear that you want _nothing_ to do with me. _Why_ should I…”  
“Okay…” Bucky whimpers. Palms out. Surrender shown. He looks as though Steve’s reached out and slapped him. “I’ll go. M’sorry.”

He backs away slowly. Cautious steps as though he’s slowly escaping a predator. 

“Bucky…” Steve whispers.

Too late. His husband’s made his getaway. Escaped that awful voice that sounded so much like Steve’s. Steve feels sick. Like he’s been punched in the stomach. All the air forced from his lungs. He didn’t mean what he said. Not any of it. Wants to take it all back. Those things he said, cruel, hard, opening up wounds, chasms in a solid that had just started to trust and making his husband flinch at all of them. 

Steve doesn’t know what to do. Not sure if he should chase after him now or give wounds time to heal. His wounds, Bucky’s wounds. All wounds. He doesn’t realize there are tears falling until one hits his hand. He looks at it. One drop. Round, smooth, glossy, Steve rubs it into his skin with his thumb. 

He can’t do anything right now. Anything but… 

Steve throws himself into the studio and locks himself in. First thing he does he go to the phonograph. Tries to calmly sift through his pile of records only to end up knocking it over with trembling hands. Frustration pulses through him. Steve shoves the rest of the pile over and snatches the record he wants up, flinging it onto the phonograph. The angry music blare through the cone.

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me No one will ever change this animal I have become Help me believe it’s not the real me Somebody help tame this animal_

Paints get mixed. Hastily put together without any real rhyme or reason. Steve throws a canvas up on an easel and tries to get paint onto it. Create something out of his turmoil, out of everything. Out of anything. The brush won’t listen. Shaky hands create shaky lines and Steve ends up shouting at the room and flinging the canvas across it. 

Threading fingers through his hair, Steve lets loose a round of tears he had no idea were building so strongly inside of him. They come out hard and painful, with jagged gasps and broken breaths. He’s made a mess of everything. World’s come undone in just one fell swoop. 

Steve has no idea how long he’s been standing there, how long the tears have been coming, dripping off his chin, off eyelashes and making a mess of his nose, but something in the room’s changed. It takes him a few moments to figure out what it is. Silence. The record’s stopped playing. Just the clunk, clunk, clunk, of the needle hitting against nothing. 

His throat hurts. Bad. His head is spinning and his stomach feels sick. There has to be something he can do. A patch perhaps. A patch or a needle and thread to sew this back together. There’ll no doubt be a scar, etched permanently on their marriage, but maybe he can earn Bucky’s forgiveness if he does something now. 

Tearing out of the room, Steve just barely remembers to lock the door behind him. He’s halfway up to the second floor when he hears a loud crash come from the kitchen, followed by a string of profanities. Steve fumbles to a halt on the step he’s on. Feet almost tumbling over one another. He’s a little out of breath. Strange, yes, but he’s emotional and scared and just wants to have his husband in his arms. 

Slower now, he forgoes his rush to Bucky’s room and heads to inspect what’s going on in the kitchen. It’s much too late or early for Truvie to be here already. And he’s right. It’s not Truvie. 

In the kitchen, at the counter, amid bowls and pans, a stack of half peeled apples, a sack of flour and a container of sugar, a tub of butter and a pile of eggs--two of which are broken on the floor--is Bucky, and he seems to be trying to make sense of all the items that are aimlessly tossed in different places. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cuts through the room, startling everything in it. Even another egg which crashes to the floor and splatters, adding to the mess. “What’s… what’re you doing?”  
“Steve!” Bucky knocks into the counter as though forgetting it’s there. He stares wide-eyed at him for a moment. Says, “I, please don’t be angry.”

Angry? Oh, Steve’s ruined everything. Destroyed whatever foundation they’ve managed to build. Angry? Is that what his husband would think he’d be for making a little mess in the kitchen?

“What?” He can hear the panic in his voice. “Bucky, why would I be angry?”  
“Well, you told me to go back upstairs. Back to bed. I didn’t listen.”  
“Oh.” Relief, a touch of it anyway, breathes along the edges of Steve’s skin. That’s a little better. “No, it’s okay. What’re you doing in here?”  
“Um…” Bucky looks at everything spread out on the counter. None of it seems to give the answer he’s looking for, so he picks up the book that’s gotten lost among all the other things. A cookbook. Sheepish look on his face. Maybe guilt lingering around the edges of his eyes. “Applecake.”  
“Applecake?”

He puts the book back down and once again it disappears. Bucky rings his hands out, eyes seeking the help of all those things on the counter again. 

“You… it’s your favorite, right?”  
“My favorite? Dessert?” Steve’s not sure what’s going on. Plagued with some sort of disorientation. Nothing’s making much sense. “Yes. Yes, it’s my favorite. Why?”  
“I just… thought.” His husband scrunches his face. Bites his lip. “Look, I know… I’m sorry, Steve.”  
“Sorry?”

He’s sorry? Why on earth? What does he have to apologize for?

“Yes. I know I’m not so good at this. At being your husband,” He says, and shuffles his feet a bit like he’s worried the counter might move and cause another collision. “At telling you how I feel. So I thought if I made the cake… о, черт,” he swears in Russian once. “Steve, husband, I _do_ want to be here. I do. I swear. I’m so sorry I’ve made you think--”

Bucky’s going on. Saying more words of apology. But Steve’s gone cold. Loses the next few words. This man, his husband, is apologizing to him. After what Steve’s done, said to him, flung mean and hurtful words when all he was doing was trying to offer help and comfort. And _he’s_ apologizing to _him_. 

“--to be my headship. Really. And I know you don’t _need_ me to take care of you. I know _you_ don’t need me at all. I... Steve?” Bucky whimpers and is suddenly in front of him. Eyes red and full of moisture. He reaches out and gently brushes his fingers across Steve’s cheeks. “Please, husband, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll be better, I…”  
“Please stop.” Steve whispers, voice cracking even at that low volume. “It’s okay, Bucky. Just please stop.”

Bucky looks at him, eyes searching for something. Desperation’s all over his face as he attempts to come up with a way to make Steve stop crying. Because the tears just won’t stop. The guilt is so overwhelming Steve’s not sure how’s he’s managed not to crawl into a ball at his husband’s feet. 

“Bucky…” He breathes and when his husband’s thumb goes to wipe another tear away, Steve takes hold of his hand. Tucks it close to his chest, buried just under his chin. A child’s teddy bear. There to keep the nighttime monsters at bay. He cries harder still. “I’m so… Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

“Steve…” He sounds confused now. “You’re…”  
“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said. I swear. I’m sorry. I… no, there’s no excuse for how I behaved. You have no reason to forgive me. Just… tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”  
“I don’t… understand?” He continues letting Steve hold onto his hand like that. “You… so you don’t think…”  
“No, Bucky, no. I don’t think any of that. I swear, baby, I swear. And I _do_ need you. Please, never doubt that.”

His husband’s face lights up. Both optimistic and skeptical. Eyes scanning Steve’s eyes.

“You… do? You need me?”  
“Yes, baby. Very much.” Steve whispers. Hand seeks Bucky’s cheek and makes his eyes close. “I want you to take care of me. I’m not used to that though. To wanting that. To having someone who can.”  
“Steve…” His name slips off Bucky’s tongue. Almost like an instinct. A necessity. When his husband’s eyes open, they’re filled with more tears. Good tears, Steve thinks. Happy, honored. “Let me then.”

Steve nods. Gives in to what he should have given into earlier. Bucky takes his hand back. It’s all Steve has not to whimper. Doesn’t want to let go. But Bucky puts both of them at the base of Steve’s neck, pulls himself in and kisses. Presses harder, enough that it almost makes Steve moan against the lips on his. If the situation was different, he might. 

Only Bucky ends the kiss. Doesn’t pull away though. Brings himself closer by wrapping arms around Steve’s neck, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” He murmurs. “I’m sorry about your mom. S’not fair.”

No one’s ever said those words. No one else knows. No one that’s not a doctor or staff. Not Sam or Peggy or Tony. No one. Bucky’s the first and Steve can’t answer him without breaking down again. He clings onto him though. Hands grip tightly onto his husband’s shirt like maybe he’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Cries again anyway. Face smothered into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

“S’okay, Steve,” Bucky says. Hand runs gently over Steve’s head, fingers through his hair. “I’m here, okay?” His voice cracks. Only slightly, but it does. “I’m here.”  
“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve weeps. Then harder, cries, “I love her so much, Bucky.”  
“I know.” His arms get tighter around him.  
“She’s was so strong. She did so much for me. So did… I love my dad, too, I do, but…” Steve sucks in a jagged breath. Needs a second to go on. “She took parental leave cause I was s-so sick. N-never once d-doubted herself for it.”

Parents’ rights, of course. More Societal privilege. One parent is permitted to take as much time as they’d like without consequences to their career. Even until all their children come of age if they so choose. 

Steve goes on.

“We-we spent, we were at the f-farmhouse a lot. Away from the p-press. So Dad s-stayed at home during the week. We were close too but Mom and me…” He takes another moment to cry wordlessly into Bucky’s shoulder and his husband just gives him that time, hand rubbing softly into his muscles the whole time. “Mom, she, you know she’s a nurse?”

That does spark enough in Bucky to make him move a little. Steve can feel his head turn, but he doesn’t try to undo his comforting hold on him. Steve’s glad. He doesn’t want Bucky to let go.

“She is? How?”

“She asked the House Banner to teach her. For me. She learned for me. Oh God. She did that for me, Bucky. So she could…” Steve gasps. There’s a broken sound in the back of his already sore throat and it burns. “So she could take care of me even, ev-even more. I was such a burden. Born a burden. Fourteen years a burden and she-she never treated me like one. She… she taught me how to be s-strong.” He whispers. Can’t find the strength to his voice. It’s lost. Hidden somewhere in a place guarded fiercely by doubts and fears. “And I can’t help her.”

“Oh, Steve…” Bucky does pull away this time. “Look at me.” He does. Tears and all. “She doesn’t want you to. Doesn’t expect you to. Stevie, you know that.” Voice gentle, kind. So reassuring, but without the expectation of being fully believed. Not yet. “S’not easy. I… it’s…” He pauses when Steve’s face crumples. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”  
“Bucky…”

His husband responds only with another embrace. Doesn’t bother trying to fill the air with empty words. Meaningless right now. Only wraps long arms around him and lets him cry. 

Bucky holds him for an immeasurable amount of time. Steve loses all track of it. By the time he lifts his head back up his eyes are all puffy. Nose swollen. Red and probably very unattractive. His husband wipes the moisture clinging to the skin under his eyes. He sniffles and offers a sloppy smile. Tries to show that he’s going to be okay. Just like Bucky’s promised.

Steve feels so incredibly different. Lighter. He’s carried around this heavy burden for two years. Two long, harsh years of an illness not his own that’s weighed him down, down, down. Heavy on his shoulders, lead in his footsteps, tight in his lungs. Bucky’s really here for him. Here to hold him, to let him cry, to listen. Steve’s still not sure if it’s right of him. If handing over any of his pain to Bucky is fair when he has so much of his own, when Steve is the rightful headship. He should be taking these things on by himself. That’s his job, his responsibility. 

But Bucky _did_ ask. Did want it. And it seems to make him happy. Happy to hear such validation that he’s needed. Steve’s should have made that known more often. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers.  
Bucky tilts his head. “What for?”  
“For not…” Steve sighs. Wipes the bottom of his palms under his eyes. “I should have let you know more. Not let you think I didn’t need you.”  
“Oh. That.” He rests his hand softly on Steve’s chest. Touching like he loves so much. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”  
“I am. Bucky, I…” He pauses when he catches a glimpse of the panic in Bucky’s eyes. “Not at you, Bucky. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. I’ll do better at letting you know, okay? At making you feel needed.”  
“I… but, Steve, this isn’t about me tonight. It’s about…”  
“Us. It’s always about us.”  
“But, husband, I…”  
“Stop.” Bucky does. Folds lips it like he needs to in order to keep more words from spilling out. “Yes, you’re right. It’s about…” 

Steve needs to take a breath. It’s hard to admit this. Doesn’t like to make things about him. Feels wrong. Selfish. But sometimes not doing so burdens those around him and Steve finds himself a walking conundrum. 

“...it _is_ about me tonight. And that’s hard for me, Bucky. I’m going to ask you to be patient with me? Is that okay?”  
“Yes, Steve.”

Like he knows he’s not really permitted to speak more yet, Bucky folds his lips back up again. Keeps those words tucked tightly behind them. Steve holds in a chuckle. His husband can be so cute sometimes. Most times. He runs the back of his knuckles softly along the side of Bucky’s throat. 

“Regardless of tonight being _mostly_ about me, I learned something about you, my darling husband.” A blush fills Bucky’s cheeks. Compliments. Praise of any kind. Affection. Never fails to darken his skin. Steve hopes it never changes. “You need that validation. From me. So I want you to let me know if you need more, okay? If you’re ever feeling unwanted? Or unneeded? You tell me.” Bucky’s eyes are saucer-wide. Glistening even in the dimly lit room. Surprised. “You let me know. I’ll do what I can to fix it. To try to make sure it doesn’t keep happening.”

“You… want me to…”  
“Rule three.” He declares. Sets it in stone. No wiggle room. “I don’t want to find out that you’ve been struggling with it weeks later, understand?”  
“Yes, husband. I understand.”  
“Good.” Steve holds his hands out. “Come here.”

Bucky places his hands in Steve’s, lets them get wrapped up and Steve guides him closer. 

“Thank you, Bucky. For being with me tonight. For yelling at me when I deserved it. For taking care of me. I…” _Love you_ … “need you.”

He wasn’t fully in his arms, but when Steve says that last part, Bucky rests up against his chest, nuzzles the side of his face there. Breathes out his contentment.

“Mm. Thank you, Steve.” Steve can feel the smile against his skin. “I… Steve, I want you to know, I do want to be a good husband for you. We never talk about the… the interview, I guess because of what happened at the end.” Which is true. Steve’s never brought it up, even if the turnabout of the article itself has been fairly successful. “But I wonder if you know I meant it?”  
“Meant it, Bucky?”  
“Everything I said that day. That you really are Society’s Best Catch. That I feel taken care of. That you… inspire me to want you as my headship. It’s true. All of it.” 

A breath catches in Steve’s throat. He really didn’t know that. Thought most of what Bucky said that day was a fabrication, an act for reporters. A stretch of the truth at the most. 

“Really? You… really?”

Bucky’s fingers are tracing circles along Steve’s hand. Looking for something to do. 

“I… Steve…” Bucky sighs. “I’m really no good at this. Yes, Steve. Really.”  
“Bucky?”  
He glances up. “Yes?”  
“Can I help you? Bake the cake, I mean?”  
Bucky chuckles. “I don’t think you need my permission. It is your kitchen after all.”  
“Our kitchen.”  
“Oh.” He huffs. “ _Our_ kitchen. _Ours_. No good at this. I’m really no good at this.”  
“You’re incredible at this, Bucky.” Steve says. He brushes the hair away from Bucky’s ear and whispers, “Incroyable quand cela compte le plus.” 

A whimper, quiet, muffled even, gets stuck in Bucky’s throat. He doesn’t even move when Steve does. Steve chuckles. Tucks that hair behind his husband’s ear.

“Perhaps I’ll teach you German instead.” He murmurs. “I like this.”  
Bucky’s eyes float up. “You are entirely unfair, husband.”

Steve smiles. But a broken gasp hitches as well. His mother taught him French. It hits him. Tears again. They come on quick. He wipes them away. Bucky catches him. 

“Are you okay?” He holds his arms up. “Do you…”  
“I’m okay.”  
“Steve.”

Steve hears the firmness in his voice. Knows Bucky means it. Will make good on this promise.

“Really, Bucky. I’m okay for now. Promise.”  
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. Come, husband,” He states, taking hold of his hand and tugging him towards the mess on the counter, steering him around the shattered eggs along the way, “help me with this. I have no idea what I’m doing here.”  
Steve laughs. “To be honest, nor do I. I’ve never made apple cake before. Is it worth it? Will you eat it? You don’t like apples.”  
“I don’t. But it’s your favorite. I’ll try it.”

Turns out it’s not the wisest idea for them try to the recipe without Truvie’s supervision. Bucky get’s confused by some of the directions he’s not used to. _Cream the butter? What? Beat the eggs? How do you…?_ Steve’s there to help with the confusion. Still, they end up with flour everywhere, courtesy first of Bucky’s lighthearted toss of it at Steve’s face. Which resulted, of course, in Steve’s flour covered hand tousling Bucky’s hair. There’s sugar trailing the floor and apple peels dot the sugar trails. Melted butter’s smeared on the counter and Steve’s pretty sure more batter made it on the door of the oven than in the pan. 

In the end, they pull out a lopsided, very sloppy looking cake. It’s not burned though, and it’s evenly cooked, golden browned, the apples’re crisp on top, perfect for sprinkling the right amount of sugar on them. Despite the mess it looks, the cake smells delicious. At least, Steve thinks it does. Bucky’s busy making faces at the thing, scrunching his nose up like it’s the very bane of his existence. Unable to resist, Steve rips off a piece and holds it out to him.

“Here you go.” He says. “Have a piece.”  
“Oh. I…” Bucky grimaces. Mind changed now that he’s presented with the food he hates most. “I dunno.”  
“Come on. I insist.” 

He’s teasing of course, but he can’t help getting a chuckle at the confusion on his husband’s face as Bucky tries to figure out whether he’s jesting or really insisting as his headship.

Steve can see it the moment the gears of his brain click into place and realize he is, in fact, only teasing. Bucky’s eyes roll. Tongue clicks against his teeth.

“You really are the meanest person in the world.”  
“Aw come on!” Steve laughs. Holds the piece closer to Bucky’s mouth. “Give it a try!”  
“Steve!”

Bucky’s giggling. Outright giggling. Hard. Eyes crinkled. Tears in the corners. Hand over his mouth. To keep the food from getting any closer, sure, but a cute way to cover his giggles. Steve’s never seen him do this. His face is totally red. Chin tucked into his neck, eyes trying not to peer up at him. Only partially successful. 

Steve rests his hand at the side of Bucky’s face. Makes his husband hum softly. A gentle whimper of sorts. Eyes flutter shut. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers.  
“Hm?” 

Eyes still closed.

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?”  
“Okay.” He whispers back.

Steve does. Presses his lips against Bucky’s. Opens them, tongue sliding along Bucky’s mouth. Seeks permission to enter. Bucky’s mouth parts and Steve’s tongue darts inside. They swirl together, and Bucky moans, pulls himself closer, leans into Steve’s body. His hands squeeze into his back like they can’t get enough of him. But then Bucky pulls away. Shakes his head.

“No wait,” He says. Breathless. Almost panting. “Wait… Steve…”  
“I’m sorry…” Steve replies. He backs off, palms out. “I didn’t… we don’t…”  
“Oh! No, it’s not…” Bucky closes the gap Steve’s made. “It’s not that, Steve. I…” He presses his teeth into his lip. Blushes. “It’s not that I don’t want to? It’s… after tonight maybe _you_ shouldn’t?”  
“Me? Oh…”

He’s right. Bucky’s absolutely right. Tonight’s been hectic. Too emotional. A whirlwind of unexpected turmoil and late night explosions. Breakdowns and fixer uppers. 

“Okay. You’re right.” Steve agrees, and holds up the cake again. “Here, you can have this instead.”  
“No!” Bucky laughs. “Steve!”

Steve chuckles, and is about to pop the cake into his mouth instead, but never gets the chance.

“What have you done to my kitchen?!”

The food fall from his fingers at the sound of Truvie’s shocked, almost outraged voice. Seems they’ve been up late enough to see Truvie come in to start her day. Sun’s already up. Steve gets behind Bucky.

“It was his idea!” He exclaims.  
“Hey!” Bucky moves so that it’s him hiding behind Steve. “ _You’re_ the headship here! And besides, it’s your kitchen, isn’t it?”  
“Ours.”  
“Damn it.”  
“Mine, anyway.” Truvie announces. “It’s _my_ kitchen, seeing how _I_ do most of the cooking. Now get _out_ of it, before you do anymore damage!”  
Steve stutters, “Can I… can I at least try…”  
“No, you cannot!” She scolds. “Not until I get this mess straightened up. You can have some cake later.” Truvie eyes the apple cake on the counter. “If that’s what you call that.” She tsks at the slop in the pan. “And to think I taught you how to cook, Lord Rogers.”  
Steve gives her a pout. “Then will you let us help you clean, Truvie?”  
“No.” Truvie marches over to them and places a hand on each of their backs. Ushers them towards exit. “Out with you both. Go get some rest and let me straighten this mess up.”

Steve trudges out of the kitchen with Bucky at his side, both marching up the stairs like two scolded children. 

“Wait…” Bucky’s voice is hushed, slightly whiny. “Can she really send you away? Doesn’t _Truvie_ work for _you_?”  
Steve chuckles. “Yeah. But are _you_ gonna go back there and tell her that?”  
“Uh-ah.” He rattles his head. Quick back and forths. Eyes wide and a bit horrified at the idea. “No way.” Before Steve can get anything other than another laugh out, Bucky goes on to say, “Is it alright if I phone Dr. Odinson, Steve? Take the day off? Not sure if I’m up to working today.”

Protocol to seek this sort of permission. One that Steve can’t really break. They probably won’t, but the Military Compound might ask to speak with Steve to confirm Bucky has the permission to not be at work. Bucky’ll be docked a day of pay unless Dr. Odinson says otherwise. The loss of money affects the House. Domino effect. 

“Of course. That’s fine.”

Bucky nods and yawns, moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes as he does. Night’s caught up to him. Steve can’t tell if he’s put off by having to ask for this. Maybe too sleepy now to care. Either way, he follows his husband to the telephone. The source of all tonight’s troubles. Bucky wraps a hand around the neck of it to lift it out of the alcove in the wall and picks the earpiece off the switchhook. He has to flick the switchhook up and down a few times before it connects.

“Hello, operator?” He speaks into the mouthpiece. “Would you connect me to PEnnsylvania-10616, please?”

Another yawn pulls Bucky’s mouth open wide, obscenely so, and, for once, he forgets his manners and doesn’t try to cover it. Perhaps learning to be comfortable around him, Steve wonders. His eyes are closed as he waits for the call to go through. Steve can hear the moment it does. Bucky reacts immediately, as though Dr. Odinson suddenly appears in the room. 

“Dr. Odison, it’s, it’s Bucky, Barnes, sir.” He says softly. “Please, excuse me for disturbing you so early in the morning, but I’m not feeling so well today and I’m not going to be able to come in for my shift this morning.” Bucky pauses. Lets Dr. Odinson say a few things. His face darkens. Eyes go flat, lips pull into a line. “Yes, Dr. Odinson. No, it’s okay. I understand. He’s right here. Just one moment.” He lowers the earpiece first. Base second. Hands them both to Steve. “He… Dr. Odinson says he needs to talk with you.”

And now, now he sounds irritated. Upset. Both. Steve sighs. Takes the phone. Hates the phone tonight. Today. Yesterday and today.

“Hello?”  
“Lord Rogers?”  
“Yes, this is Lord Rogers,” He says. “What can I do for you, Dr. Odinson?”  
“Oh, I…” Dr. Odinson sighs on the other end. “Listen, Lord Rogers, I’m deeply sorry about this, I truly am. It’s not that I don’t trust Bucky. It’s not that at all. Really, I told him that. I hope he knows that; I hope _you_ know that. But, I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. The Executive Bureau, you see. Been checking up on my department a lot. Making sure everything, I mean _everything_ is being done by the book.”

Steve’s never interacted with Dr. Odinson before, not counting this brief little moment. He sounds like a pleasant man. Hesitant right now. Doesn’t want to enforce this protocol on Bucky. On both of them. Steve likes him. 

“I understand, Dr. Odinson.”  
“Oh.” He pauses. “Oh, good. I just… I need to make sure that it’s okay with you…”  
“It is. He…” Steve hesitates himself. Can’t bring himself to look at Bucky, whose face is hard, icy cold, when he says this. Needs to. So it’s on record. “Bucky has my permission to not come in today.”  
“Ah. Okay then. Thank you. And… I’m sorry. Please, would you be so kind to express my apologies again to Bucky for me, Lord Rogers?”  
“I will. Thank you, Dr. Odinson.”

Steve hangs up before another word is said. He holds onto the phone for a few moments longer than necessary. Clings to it. It’s the only thing between him and Bucky. This fragile piece of machinery that’s been nothing but a nuisance over the past several hours and has now wedged itself between Steve and his husband. Who’s probably not very pleased at the moment, but Steve’s not permitting himself to look up away from the phone. After what’s considerably too long, it’s Bucky that takes the phone out of his hands. Puts it back in its home. A little too rough. Nothing less than what it deserves. 

“Don’t.” Bucky mumbles.  
“Don’t?”  
“You’re going to apologize.” He says. “Whenever you decide to speak again. Just don’t. Nothing you can do about it. S’not your fault.”  
“Are you sure?” Steve wonders. “I will if you want me to.”  
“Yes. I mean no. Or…” He sighs. “I don’t want you to apologize. I don’t want you going feeling sorry for me. Like I said, nothing you can do. I knew I had to ask you. Dr. Odinson having to… it just… it took me a little by surprise is all.” Bucky peers up at him. Irritation is still there. Less. Light peeking through the shadows. “I’ll be okay. Swear.”  
Steve nods. “All right. Why don’t you try to get some rest? It’s been a long night.”

Bucky’s face clears of all emotion. Eyes blink and then move about. A bit frantic to say the least. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.  
“I can’t… I mean… can’t I…” He sucks in a deep breath. Looks at his feet. Bare now. Having shed his shoes down in the kitchen. Left them behind. “Um. Never mind.”  
“Uh-ah. Honesty. Look at your husband.” Steve can almost see the knots tying in Bucky’s stomach as he struggles to look back up. “It’s okay. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

When Steve cups his cheek, Bucky makes that small sound in the back of his throat. The one Steve still can’t really figure out what it means. 

“Uh… it’s just…” Bucky swallows back a few words. Probably some thoughts with them. “I can’t come with you, husband? To your room?”  
“Oh.” Steve lets his hand fall away, surprised. “Of course you can. I just thought…” He glances to Bucky’s room. “I thought that’s where you wanted to be tonight.”  
“Well I… did. But now…” He steps closer. Rests his brow against Steve’s chest. “I’d like to be with you. Just in case you need me. And just… because? If that’s okay.”  
“Mmm. Yes, Bucky, that’s more than okay. Thank you.” He nuzzles his cheek in his husband’s hair. “Go on. Get changed for bed. We’ll sleep today away.”  
Steve can feel him smile. “I like that idea, husband.”

They’re in bed, warm, comfortable and lazy, yawns and cuddles. The curtains are shut so the friendly sun doesn’t get too loud and keep them from getting the sleep they need. Truvie’s forgiven them enough and promised more than just the toast and jam she brought them for later today.

“Can’t sleep on an empty stomach.” She said. “Eat up. Then sleep.”

Two plates littered with crumbs, one with half a crust still left on it, are on Steve’s nightstand waiting to be collected. Bucky’s pressed against him. Not yet sleeping. He can tell. Body’s not gone lax in his arms yet and his fingers are absently tracing patterns along Steve’s skin. 

“Steve?”  
“Yes?  
“Um. I was just wondering… when did you plan on having our dinner party? We can’t keep putting it off y’know.”  
“Oh. I… I don’t want to rush you.” 

He’s right though. They can’t keep pushing it off. It’s traditional for newlyweds to host a dinner party within their first month of marriage. They’ve been married three already. 

“You’re hardly rushing me. And it’s pretty scandalous to go so long without having one. People are already talking. If we don’t have one soon…”  
“I know.” Steve sighs. You’re right. I was thinking…”  
“Ah, so you _have_ been thinking about it.”  
“Shush.” He feigns annoyance. “Don’t interrupt your headship.”  
“My apologies, husband.” He whispers with a chuckle. “What were you thinking?”  
“The week between Christmastide and the New Years’ Gala?”  
“Are… are you asking or telling?”  
“Oh,” Steve runs his fingertips up the sleeve of Bucky’s night shirt. Keeps the cold out. Even wrapped up under a thick, thick blanket _and_ Steve’s arms. He puts his lips by Bucky’s neck. Waits for that nod before kissing. “Asking, baby. I’m asking.”

Even though he did meticulously go about picking that particular week. Busy time of year. Certain Houses might be wrapped up in their own traditions. Unable to attend. Will have to decline to the invite that will be rude of them not to send. 

Bucky seems to be thinking it over. Whether or not he draws the same conclusion, Steve’s not sure. He sighs, strained noise coming out with his breath.

“That sounds okay.”  
“Does it?” Steve asks. To make sure. To be absolutely positive his husband is not lying to him. “Look at me, Bucky.” Bucky looks over his shoulder first, body following a second later. He looks confused. “Tell me truly. If it’s too soon, we’ll wait.”  
Bucky grins. “You mean that, don’t you?”  
“I do. Of course I do.”

Bucky wiggles closer and strokes the side of Steve’s face. He leans in and plants a kiss. Once. Light and sweet. 

“I’m okay with it, husband.” He runs his thumb over the spot he’s just kissed. “I did tell you I wanted to be a good husband for you, right? I want… I want people to see that. People to see that I’m a good spouse to your headship.”  
“You do?”  
“I…” Bucky twists his lips. “I think. I’m…” He groans slightly. “Honesty, right?”  
Steve nods. “Right. Whatever you have to tell me. It’s okay.”  
“Okay. I’m nervous. Really nervous. But I do want to do this. We should, anyway. Society is pretty invested in us.”

He’s right again. Other couples, not so in the spotlight, cameras not as interested in following them around, they wouldn’t have to be so careful about these things. Steve’s already pushed this to the max. 

“I’ll have Truvie send out the invites this week then.”

The nerves Bucky mentioned are clear on his face. Even get larger in his eyes as he nods. There’s nothing that indicates he wants to take it back though. Steve pets his head. Runs fingers through his hair. Offers what comfort he can. Small touches of affection, little doses of those things Bucky craves. There’s still flour in his hair and it comes off with under Steve’s palm, falls gently onto the pillowcase like soft snow.

“Put it out of your mind for now.” He murmurs. Hand still running through his hair. “We have Christmastide to get through first.”  
“Hm.” Bucky purses his lips. “What’s that like? Christmastide with your…” He pauses. Remedies his mistake. “Our House?”  
“You’ll see.”  
“You’re not going to tell me?” He seems quite surprised. Amused though. Corners of his lips turned up, holding onto the humor. “Really?”  
“Really. I’ll help you with House etiquette of course. Family greetings, the House prayers.” 

He’s going to have to get the House of Barnes’ crest and creed removed from his arm before then. Bucky’s going to hate it. Steve already hates himself for needing to make it happen. A hard lump forms in his throat. Makes it hard to breathe. To think. “Um… you…” Not now. Later. After they rest.

“Yes? Steve?”  
“Nothing. We’ll talk about it later. Just some more protocol is all.”  
“Oh. But you said if something comes up we should talk about it right away.”  
“Yes. But it’s been a long night.” Steve says. “Can I have a kiss, Bucky?” Bucky gives him a lazy smile. Kisses him. Sweet like the sugar used in their hastily thrown together apple cake. Sitting downstairs waiting to be tasted. Tasting Bucky’s probably sweeter anyway. “We’ll talk about this later. Sleep now.”  
“Okay, husband.”

They fall quiet. Outside noises, the sweet morning routines of a world going on turning into their own lullaby. Steve feels himself slipping quickly. The cusp of a dream hazy on the horizon between asleep and awake. 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers.  
Steve’s not even sure if he answers in his dream or in the waking world, “Shh. I’m sleeping.”  
Bucky chuckles. “You are not. There’s no snoring.”  
“I do not snore.” He opens his eyes to see Bucky grinning at him.  
“Oh I beg to differ, husband.”  
“No I… do I keep you up?”  
He giggles a little. “Only slightly. Not much. It’s cute anyway.”  
“Yeah well, you drool.”

Bucky wipes at his mouth like there might be drool at the present moment. He inspects his hand. Nothing.

“I know.” He snickers. “I hope you don’t mind.”  
“I can’t say that I do. What’d you want to say?”  
“Well, I was… wondering if maybe I could bring my… clothes or things here.”  
“Your things? Where?”  
“In… here?” He says again. “Maybe I could stay? I mean… not get rid of the other room but…” He stumbles over his lips a bit. Has trouble with the words. “Um. Maybe this could be… _our_ room?”

Steve feels his eyes get wide. Feels them try to climb out of their home inside his skull. Perhaps he is in fact dreaming. Can Bucky truly want to share a room with him? Permanently? When he still has troubles thinking of the most meaningless of rooms as theirs? 

“Never mind,” Bucky whispers. Hurt visible in the creases of his brow. Mean looking lines, accusing Steve of what he know’s he’s done. “I’m sorry. I…”  
“No!” Steve exclaims. Took too long. Stunned into silence. “I mean yes. Yes, Bucky, of course. Of course you can stay. Our room. Ours.”

His mouth falls open. Might form the word again but doesn’t. Seems to have trouble doing much of anything for a moment until pulling into a tiny smile, kept in check by the way Bucky nibbles down on it. 

“Really?” His voice squeaks a little when he regains control. Child-like even. Adorable. Steve’s adorable husband. “Ours?”  
“Ours.” He murmurs. “C’mere.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for him to listen. He pulls him into his arms. Snuggles him against his chest. 

“You remember what I said, right, Steve?” Bucky says into his shirt. “I’ll take care of you? You’ll let me? You’re not…”  
“I know.” Steve says. “I won’t…” He hesitates. “I’m going to try, Bucky. I promise. Knock some sense into me when you have to. Okay?”  
“I will.”

Steve sighs contently. In their room. Because Bucky’s asked to share it. Permanently. 

The last coherent thing Steve can recall before succumbing to the sleep so desperate to take him is giving his husband one last squeeze and thinking _ours. Ours, ours, ours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Okay, so there's the two chapters that I'm taking the chance and posting a double dose. God, I'm totally freaking myself out here. But I really hope it's worth it and that you enjoyed them!
> 
> Oh, and if anyone's curious as to how Bucky made his phone call, using PEnnsylvania-10616: in the late 1800s and early 1900s ((which is where a lot of this world is derived from)), the [telephone exchange](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telephone_exchange) was used and PEnnsylvania was the exchanged most widely used in New York City. The more you know! 
> 
> Well, here's wishing everyone a happy and very safe New Years ((good riddance to 2014, may the door hit you in the ass on the way out)). I hope everyone gets to celebrate in fun, happy ways. Ring it in the best way for you! 
> 
> Let's end 2014's updates with these visuals:
> 
> Poor Bucky when Steve is yelling at him
> 
>  
> 
> After Steve comes up and apologizes and tells him how much he needs him
> 
>  
> 
> And in the bedroom (( _their_ bedroom now)), teasing Steve about snoring
> 
>  
> 
> Poor Steve after he realizes he's yelled at Bucky 
> 
>  
> 
> As Bucky's apologizing and Steve feels even guiltier 
> 
>  
> 
> Last but not least, we'll end on happy Steve, talking with Bucky about permanently sharing a room
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, so once again, always feel free to leave comments and//or find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) and Happy New Years!!! 
> 
> Hope to see you next week!


	18. First Update of Fifteen Years into the New Millennium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put a small warning in the beginning of this chapter for use and minor descriptions of the effects of painkillers and the ((spoiler warning)) dissociation sometimes attributed to amputation and reliving past-trauma.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says again.  
Bucky huffs. Again. Mutters, “I asked you to stop staying that.”  
“I know but…” He runs thick fingers through his hair. Pulls slightly at the ends. “I’m…”

His husband’s eyes flick up at him. Warns him, pleads with him. Don’t say it again. First time he’s looked up in damn near twenty minutes. Steve nods. Snaps his mouth shut and Bucky goes right back to glaring at the floor of their bedroom. Maybe still their bedroom. Perhaps he’s changed his mind about wanting to share. 

Bucky’s sitting stiffly at the corner of the bed, arms pinned tightly across his chest. Not sulking. That’s not the position. Holding is more like it. Holding in pain, trying to grasp on, or latch onto the last bit of the old life of his that he’s about to lose. 

Evening slips through the room. Early darkness of winter and shorter days adding to the harsh truth of their predicament. Steve hates this. Wishes he could change the world for Bucky. Make it better for him. But he can’t. He’s stuck with this one. Feet sucked down in this ever-sinking mud puddle. Bucky needs to have the House of Barnes’ creed and crest removed from his left arm. There’s no getting around it. 

“You did know,” Steve wonders gently, “right?”

Bucky nods once.

“I let… I wanted…” There’re no words. Nothing Steve can say to make this any easier. 

It’s quiet again. Bucky continues to glare at the floor. Burning holes in the wood. Setting fire to it. He might hate this room now. Hates where Steve broke the news to him. It needs to happen. Even if he knew it already. Didn’t matter. Hearing it made it real. It’s happening. Losing himself all over again.

“When?” Bucky asks. 

His voice is like a knife. Sharp, painful. Goes through Steve’s ribs in one quick stab. He hasn’t heard Bucky growl like that since he snapped at Truvie. At the moment, Steve doesn’t have the heart to say anything about it. 

“Between now and Christmastide.” He says softly. Steve’s about to reach out to touch his face, but Bucky actually moves _away_ from his hand. Away from the affection he usually craves. Steve, hurt, yes, but understanding, closes his hand and takes it back. “Your choice.”

That gives him a little less than three weeks. Bucky’s face gets impossibly harder. Lips pushed together, eyes flat. Seeing things that Steve probably doesn’t want to know about. 

Without a word, or even a glance in Steve’s direction, Bucky rises to his feet. He stands there for a brief moment, a heartbeat maybe, before heading towards the door. Steve is just about to say something when Bucky freezes. He’s only inches from the exit, from making his hurried escape from Steve and his unintentional and unwanted need to uphold this piece of tradition. Of shedding physical reminders of his former House.

But they’ve been through this before. Been through Bucky storming away and Steve’s need to scold him for it. Bucky even sought out his own form of redemption for it. Asked to be reprimanded because of it. Now Bucky’s just standing there and Steve’s waiting to see what he’ll do. There’s an internal struggle going on. It’s all over Bucky’s lips. The way they move, as if he’s speaking to himself without any words actually coming out. After several long, drawn out minutes, he glares up at the ceiling. Searching for sympathy. Strength too, and possibly finding some since he comes marching back in. Even sits down on the corner of the bed. Furthest corner from Steve. 

He licks his lips. Face is still hard, but it looks as though he’s trying, trying pretty hard, to soften it. At least for Steve’s sake. Steve waits. 

“I…” Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again and sighs. “You said I could take time when I needed it?”  
“Yes. Of course.”  
“Can I? Now? Go to my…” He stops. Bites that back and glances out at the room. “Or… the other room? Be alone for a while?”

That makes Steve’s stomach spasm. His husband doesn’t want to refer to it has his own room anymore. Which must mean Bucky still wants this one to be theirs. Steve would like to feel that physical connection. To reach out and touch, offer the comfort Bucky refused to accept. Bucky’s chosen to keep far away from him though. So he doesn’t.

“Oh, I…” Steve rattles his head. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean that you needed to ask. Just, if you could… try to let me know.” When Bucky doesn’t reply to that, Steve says gently, “Um, go on, Bucky.” Tries to convey that offer of comfort through his voice. “You take as much time as you need.” 

Bucky nods and gets up quickly, like the bed’s pushed him off. 

He’s just at the door when he says, hurried and rushed, “Thank you, husband,” and hustles away.

Steve waits until he hears the door down the hall close before he sits down on the bed himself. Worn out. Tired again even though he and Bucky slept all day. Woke up when Truvie brought them a light lunch of parsnip soup and then slept again. 

When they woke a little while later, after dressing and some casual chit-chat, as casual as it can get for two people still trying to get to know one another, Steve tried to break it to Bucky delicately. Perhaps it wasn’t delicate enough. Or maybe there’s just no way to handle such a thing delicately enough. 

Bucky hadn’t taken the news well. Not bad, but not well. Didn’t argue. Didn’t say much of anything. 

Steve sighs and heaves off the bed. He pauses momentarily in the hall. Watches the door watching him. Give Bucky time. He needs it. Deserves it too especially after winning the battle with himself and settling down enough to come ask for the time. Steve nods at the door, at Bucky behind it, hoping that maybe the gesture will somehow make its way through the thick and sturdy wood and whisper softly upon Bucky’s heart. 

Heavy feet carry him down the stairs and to the kitchen. The apple cake is still sitting out on the counter. A clean counter. No evidence that a battle between man and cooking ever took place. 

“Truvie?” Steve calls softly. 

He hadn’t caught a glimpse of her when coming down the stairs. Wonders where she may be. 

“In here, m’Lord.” 

The drawing room. She at the small writing desk, which will be removed in four weeks time when they host their dinner party. 

“What are you doing, Truvie?” he wonders.  
“Preparing the invitations for your dinner, sir.”  
“Already?”  
“Of course. Proper etiquette dictates at least three weeks notice. This will give four if I have them out by tomorrow’s post.”  
“Oh.”

Truvie glances up from her chore. Brushes the end of the quill along her lip before placing it gently back in the inkwell. Her fingers lace, knuckles resting on the desk.

“You didn’t come in here to watch me write up invites, Lord Rogers.” She points out. “Is there something on your mind, sir?”

Steve looks up at the ceiling. Through the thick wood and beams, up into a world where his husband is suffering alone. Working again through pain and turmoil in a place that Steve cannot follow. 

“Bucky is angry with me.” He murmurs.  
Truvie nods. Asks, “Angry with you? Or upset with _something_?”  
“What?”  
“Is Lord Barnes truly upset with _you_ or is it possible that he’s upset with circumstance that you just happen to be involved in?”  
“Ah,” Steve breathes in deeply. Mind catching up to Truvie’s thinking. “I see what you’re saying.”

Bucky’s angry. He’s sad and frustrated and with good reason. Sure, he knew that eventually the House Barnes’ crest would need to be removed from his left arm. That knowledge can’t really lessen the pain of being face to face with the actuality of having it done. Whether he meant to or not, Bucky’s probably been clinging onto it. Grasping onto that one last shred of the life that so abruptly came to an end. That doesn’t mean he’s angry with Steve. At least, Steve can let small bits and pieces of hope drop into his heart. Dare to fill it up a little. His husband still wants to share a room with him, desires to be near him in some way. That has to mean something. 

“Why don’t you step out for a while, m’Lord?” Truvie suggests. “Clear your mind.”  
“Oh… I don’t know. I have work that I should…”  
“Lord Rogers, it’s been a trying few weeks. Last night can’t have been easy.”

No. It wasn’t. Steve hadn’t needed to explain anything to Truvie. Truvie knows. She’s been with the House for as long as Steve can remember. Changed his diapers before she had children of her own, mixed his medicines so that Sarah didn’t need to leave his side, cleaned up cuts and bumps and bruises--stitching up and patching trousers as well--when he played too rough and kept quiet so that he didn’t get in trouble. She knew, when she came in and found him in another sleepless night, pulled away from home by shaky limbs and desperate fears that only sight of his mother would quell. 

But there’s change on the horizon. Between he and Bucky. Life altering perhaps. The husband that never wanted him, wants to take care of him. Took care of him. Held him, comforted him, wants to be here. Wants to share a room. 

“No you’re right,” Steve sighs. “It wasn’t. But I still have a lot of work…”  
“Lord Rogers.” Is all she says when she interrupts. “It’s was a long night.”  
He rubs his eyes and nods “Okay. Maybe I’ll take that walk. You’ll let Bucky know I’ll be back, won’t you?”  
“Of course, sir.”

***

There’s leftover snow on the ground. Not much by means of thickness. Sidewalk dotted with thin layers of cold patches. Steve doesn’t mind the cold. Something about the freshness of it. Cleansing the world with cool, crisp air; air that, at one time, could have killed him. The weakness of his lungs unable to withstand one strong wind. His heart not strong enough to hold up against the harshness of the changing weather. Immune system just never what it should be. Not able protect Steve against a slew of illnesses. Fevers and strep throat and pneumonia. Coughs that rattled his lungs and aches that plagued his joints. Winter’s were a possible death sentence. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t mind being out in them now. Just because he can. To prove to himself, over and over, that he’s strong enough now to withstand the season.

He’s stronger than it now. Stronger than the disabilities he was born with. Steve’s no longer the burden Society believes he would have been without Dr. Erskine’s procedure. He can see properly; hear properly. Blood pressure doesn’t climb over nothing. Stomach isn’t riddled with ulcers. Doesn’t need to force feed himself a half-a-pound of raw liver every morning just because his own body doesn’t create the proper vitamins. 

Steve’s stomach turns at the thought. Mouth rejects the idea of ever having liver--raw, cooked, any sort of liver--near him ever again. He shudders. And glances around. Realizes that he’s brought himself nearly half a mile from home. To a good place. 

It’s a single, separate home. Two stories, tucked away in a corner lot amid bare trees and tall hedges. Made of cobblestones and a sloping roof, a red, brick chimney peaks out from behind the other side. Steve makes his way up the crooked stoop to ring the bell. It sticks a bit when he pulls the string, possibly a bit of ice freezing it a little. 

Steve’s not waiting long before the door opens. The butler who answers it seems surprised, but pleasantly so, to see who’s there.

“Lord Rogers,” He greets, giving the formal nod of the head before going on, “Are the Lord and Lady expecting you, sir?”  
“Oh, no, Edmund, they’re not. I was just around. Is Peggy in?”  
“Yes, of course,” Edmund steps aside and waves him in. “Right this way, m’Lord. Lady Carter-Jones and Lord Jones are in the family room. Shall I take your coat, sir?”  
“Please, yes.”

Steve shrugs out of his frock coat, hat, scarf and gloves, handing all the latter to Edmund who hangs everything on the coat rack in the entryway before leading Steve through the house. The House of Jones’ home is cozy. Steve always feels welcome by the warm rooms, walls splashed with earthy colors and floors hugged with soft carpets. 

Sharon’s little voice is the first Steve hears as he’s led down the hall, the family room getting closer. She’s laughing, a high pitched giggle and it sounds like her parents both join in. Edmund clears his throat when he’s in the doorway.

“Pardon the interruption,” He says when he’s noticed. “Lord Rogers is here to see you, m’Lady.”  
“Uncle Steeb!” Sharon exclaims before anyone can get in any sort of proper greeting.

She abandons the jacks on the floor as she hops to her feet, nearly tripping over the pink ruffles and frills of the hem of her dress. Laces of her pointed grey boots undone, they trail behind her, clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor as she hurries over to Steve, leaping into his arms the very second she’s close enough. 

“Little Lady Sharon!” He greets when she’s bundled up in his arms. “Look how you’ve grown! Are you eating magic beans, miss? Like the one in the story book?”  
“No! Those would make a beanstalk grow in my belly!”  
“Ah, right you are, miss, right you are.”  
“Papa says if I wanna grow up big and strong like you I have to eat all my vegetables.”  
“Is that so?”

Steve takes a peek at Gabe, standing now, big smile on his face. Happy to see Steve even if he’s arrived unexpected, unannounced. 

“That’s right. But Mama says I should eat them to be big and strong like her cause _you’re_ actually scared of her.”  
“Hm.”

Still seated on the sofa, Peggy tosses her thick, brown hair over her shoulder and flicks her eyebrows up at him. Her lips pull up in that bold grin of hers and Steve can’t help smiling back. No one in this home enforces Society’s typical children are to be seen, not heard protocol, and Steve is glad of it. Most Houses would have scolded Sharon, or any child, for her brazen remarks and behavior. Not the House of Jones. They encourage their daughter to be herself.

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Sharon.” He murmurs as he gives his attention back to her. “Your mama’s right.”  
Sharon’s eyes go wide. “Really?”  
“Really. So eat up those vegetables.”  
“Papa!” Sharon calls out to Gabe. She holds onto Steve, but swings nearly her whole body around to look at him. “Can you ask Mr. Edmund to make lots of vegetables for supper tonight?”

Both Gabe and Peggy laugh. Gabe comes over, scoops his daughter into his arms and shakes Steve’s, now free, hand. 

“Steve, it’s so good to see you.”  
“You as well, Gabe. I wish I had known you were at the club opening. I would have sought you out that night.”

Peggy rises off the couch now. Red lips, a bit of faded lipstick on them, stay in that smirk Steve would recognize from miles away.

“But you’re even more famous now, aren’t you, Steve?” She teases, and holds up the first run of the Daily Bugle that holds his and Bucky’s interview. “Sharon has us read it to her every night.”  
“I do!” She giggles. Cheeks fill with pink. A shade darker than her dress. “Can I meet your husband, Uncle Steeb? He’s very cute.”  
“Oh, okay,” Gabe sets her down on her feet. “I think that’s enough out of you, young lady.”  
“But, Papa!”  
“No, she’s right,” Steve laughs. “He is rather dishy.”

Peggy’s next to him now. She chuckles lightly and then wraps arms around his neck. They’ve not seen one another since the evening of his wedding. Briefly, too. Steve hugs her back.

“Hello, Steve,” She murmurs.  
Steve gives another gentle squeeze. Breathes out her name. “Peggy.”

It’s then, and only then, that Steve realizes he’s not come here by mistake. He’s taken himself here, to the House of Jones’ home very deliberately, even without him noticing. Steve needs to see Peggy; his best girl for as long as he can remember.

Peggy pulls away and looks at him. Inspects him even. Deep, brown eyes, full of knowledge and intrigue, a mysterious depth that Steve will never fully reach the bottom of, that run over his face. 

“Gabe?”  
“Yes, Peggy?”  
“Why don’t you take Sharon upstairs?”

Steve is still looking at Peggy, Peggy’s still regarding Steve with that inspection sort of look, but he’s sure that Gabe gives them the once over. Must sense whatever it is that Peggy senses.

“Sure. No problem. Come on, Shar, we’ll go practice your arithmetic.”  
“Oh, but, Papa, can we do my words, instead?”  
He sighs. “We’ll see. It was so good to see you, Steve.” He pats his back as he and Sharon start to leave. “I hope we see more of you. I really would love to meet your husband.”  
“Thank you, Gabe.” Steve tears his eyes away from Peggy. Shakes Gabe’s hand. “Invitations to our dinner party are going out this week. So…”  
“Oh great! We’ll be there!” Gabe flashes that bright smile again. All teeth. Big, happy. “Say goodbye to Uncle Steve, Sharon.”  
“Bye, Uncle Steeb!”  
“Lady Sharon, you’re gonna eat up all those vegetable? Make me scared of you, too?”  
“You bet!” They head out then, and Steve can hear, as they make their way down the hall, “Can I go to the dinner, too?”

Steve chuckles as Sharon whines when Gabe tells her no, that it’s an affair for adults only. When he glances back to Peggy, she runs the tips of her fingers once over his cheek and then loops their arms. 

“Come on, Lord Rogers,” She says. “I’ll put the kettle on. We’ll talk.”

While Peggy fills the kettle and lights the burner, refusing to let Steve help as she does, he sits himself down in the breakfast nook. It’s a soft evening outside. The air calm, the skies clear. A few stars already wave hello.

“Sharon is getting so big.” Steve comments.  
“I know.” Peggy laughs as she retrieves two teacups and saucers. “Seems like yesterday she was on the breast.”  
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by much, Peggy.”  
She sits across from him and barely holds back a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re just married, Steve. Gabe and I barely came out of our bedroom for the first six months. How do you think Sharon came around so quickly?”

Steve laughs. Pulls the cup and saucer she’s just placed down on the table closer. He fiddles with it a bit. Turning it this way and that as though he can somehow make it more symmetrical.

“Actually, we, um, we haven’t…”  
“Oh.” She tilts her head. “Really?”

Steve blushes. Teeth push into his bottom lip and he shakes his head. 

“No. Not yet.”  
She grins. “I just figured. Not… not because of consummation,” She clarifies. “Just because of the way you look at each other. I mean, in the photographs of your interview anyway.”  
Steve’s face gets hotter. “I want to. Bucky’s not ready.”

It’s quiet for a mdoment. Steve hadn’t even realized he was looking down until that silence lingers on a little. He peers up to find Peggy smiling at him. 

“What?”  
“We may not have married, Steve,” Peggy reaches across the table to place her hand under his chin. Soft hands. Comfortable, familiar. “But you’ll always be my favorite person.”

The kettle starts whistling at them. Before Steve can even gather enough thought to thank Peggy for what she’s said to him, she slides back out of the seat to pull it off the burner and prepare the tea. 

“So, Steve, are you going to get right to it?” She says when she pours him a cup out of a porcelain teapot, ivory with pretty blue designs along the bottom. “Or are you going to try to beat around the bush for a while?”  
“I… what?”

She smirks. Slides the sugar bowl over to him. After three months of marriage, Steve hasn’t shared a cup of tea with Bucky, coffee yes, but not tea. He knows his husband would be scooping a lot more than Steve’s own two small spoonfuls of sugar into his tea if he drinks it. 

“There’s something on your mind. Out with it. What’s going on up there?”

Steve sighs and turns the spoon round and round in his teacup. It clinks lightly against the sides, making up the tired conversation that Steve’s reluctant to start. He rests his chin in his palm, forgoing all forms of proper etiquette. 

“Bucky’s upset.” He admits.  
“Ah.” Peggy takes a sip of her tea. Eyes never leave Steve’s face. “That’s a start. I can’t imagine this is the first time he’s been upset. He was a nervous wreck the day you were married. There must be more. What is he upset about?”

Steve sniffs. Tries to figure out how to word this properly. Turns words and phrases and sentences over in his head. So many in his head.

“I told him he needed to have The House Barnes’ sigil removed from his arm.”  
“Right. That can’t be easy for him. Go on.”  
“I keep thinking he’s upset with me, about everything that upsets him.” Steve takes in a breath. Looks for more ways to organize his thoughts with it. Finds some since he’s able to say, “Truvie says he might just _be_ upset. I understand what she means. I just can’t help…” Steve grunts. An annoyed, irritated sound before going on. “He took the day from work this morning. I had to speak to his supervisor for him. I just figured he’d be furious with me over it. He was irritated but not with me. Same when…” He pauses. Doesn’t want to bring up what happened at the interview, but… “Something happened with the interview. Jonah Jameson brought up something inappropriate. It… it really bothered Bucky, a lot. And I just… I assumed he’d blame me. But he didn’t. Now, with him upset…”

Peggy’s laugh interrupts him. He glances up. Picks his chin out of his hand and sits up straight again. Proper. The way he ought to be sitting.

“What?”  
“Always so dramatic.” Peggy says. “Your husband is going to be upset by various events in his life. Some that have to do with you, some that have to do with him, some that involve the both of you.” She places a soft hand on one of his. “That hardly means it’s always going to be personal. Doesn’t mean he’s upset with _you_ , Steve.”  
“I… I care about him, Peggy. I don’t want him to be upset with me. I…”  
“You love him.”  
Steve blushes. “Is it that obvious?”  
“To me.” She chuckles. “Probably to Sam. Maybe to Tony if he’s paying any attention.”

Steve doesn’t exactly say yes or no. He doesn’t come out and say the words. Doesn’t want anyone to hear them before he works up the nerve to say them to the husband who might not be able to truly say them back and mean them. 

“He told me he wants to take care of me.”

Her eyebrows lift. Steve can see the question in them. Lined along the neatly groomed and delicately shaped hairs. She knows him well enough, has known him since he’s known himself, to know how difficult that is for him.

“And?  
“And… I… want him… to.”  
“But…?”

Leave it to Peggy to see right through him. To hear that hitch in his voice. The one Steve tried to hard to hide. To cover up with a little cough that hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

“I’m scared.” He says.  
“I’m not the one you should be saying this to, Steve.” She tells him. “Bucky, your husband, is the one who needs to hear this.”  
“I know, but… I’m his headship, right? Is it okay to let him take care of me?”  
“Oh, Steve, of course it is. I think, in any marriage, even or uneven, it’s best to take care of each other.” She trails off though. Must see the rest of the worry on Steve’s face. “Steve?”  
“Peggy…” His voice is quiet. Barely rises beyond the heavy thoughts that have weighed him down for years. “Was I… was I ever a burden on you?”

The shock that washes over Peggy is so thick, Steve can practically feel it. It ripples through what’s left of his tea, which, at this point, isn’t all that much. Peggy pushes hers aside and comes around to him. 

“Is that what you’re afraid of, Steve?” She wonders. “That you’ll be a burden on him? That you’ve _been_ a burden?”

A monster. That’s what he used to think. There was no denying that’s what passersby saw him as. Small, gangly. Hearing aides, clothes hanging off his body no matter how often a tailor fit them to him. Asthma pumps to be carried around. Friends slowing down, speaking up, trying to describe colors to him. 

A burden. That’s what he thinks now. That’s what he knows. Needing people to speak up for him. Needing to be hidden. Needing to be taken care of. Unable to pull his own weight. No use to Society. No use to the world at large at all. Just a burden. 

Steve peers up at Peggy. Hovered over him like she’s ready to gather him in her arms the way she was able to when they were kids. He doesn’t have the resolve to hold in the tears. They gather in the corners of his eyes. Threaten to pull him undone again. He nods.

“You listen to me, Steven Grant Rogers,” She states, hard and true. “You are not now nor have you ever been a burden.” Peggy takes hold of his face. Two hands for support. Soft, gentle but firm. “Not on me. Not on anyone. I do not care what Society would have you believe. I don’t care if you were to turn back into that skinny little boy you were. You’ll _never_ be a burden. Do you understand me, Steve?”

He sucks in a rough breath. Throat tight. Lips trembling. Steve tries to nod and finds he can’t quite complete the action. 

“Okay.” He whispers. “Thank you, Peggy.”

Peggy leans in. Presses soft lips against his forehead. She hugs him close for a few minutes until the old grandfather clock decides to speak up. Tells Steve that he should be leaving. He needs to be home for supper.

“I know,” Peggy murmurs when Steve glances up at him. “Come on. I’ll see you out.”

Peggy promised she and Gabe would be at the dinner party as they said their goodbyes. By the time Steve returned home he did feel a lot better. Not nearly as worried that Bucky’s anger and frustrations are always his fault. 

His husband joined him for supper. Silent and awkward. Face pale and remnants of tears hastily wiped away evident on his cheeks. Steve had been tempted to speak with him. To offer him some sort of comfort, but the only words that would come to his mind, the only things that made any sense were the two the Bucky repeatedly asked him not to say. The silence stretched on until Bucky asked to be excused. Which Steve granted. Unquestionably. 

After supper, Steve ends up in the library. Door closed. Resisting temptation to knock on the door that just peeks in the through the doorframe if Steve moves to the side enough. He wasn’t lying to Truvie when he said he had a lot of work to do. One case in particular that came in the mail just yesterday will have him working long and hard. A young woman, name of Katherine Bishop, arrested for assaulting a gentleman of Society in the park. Man claims she tried to rob him. She claims self-defense. Has the marks to prove it, too. But the judge presiding over the case, Judge Stern, ruled the photographs inadmissible. Steve’ll do what it takes to make sure Miss Bishop gets a fair retrial and never sees the inside of a prison cell. 

It’s late by the time Steve finishes up the first round of paperwork meant to be sent to his mother. If all goes well with the information he’s able to provide her with, Sarah will be able to convince the Courts to open a new case for Miss Bishop. If not, Steve will try again. And again, and again until she receives the justice she rightfully deserves. 

Steve clicks off the lamp on the desk. Moonbeams sing happily across the room, breaking in through the window behind him. They try to encourage him, lift Steve up to the stars and heavens as he grabs his suit jacket from off his chair. He attempts to hold onto their hopes as he leaves the library, only to find them retreating and staying right where they are when the door across the hall is still shut up tight. 

He wants to knock. Just once maybe. Just to see. But it’s well after midnight and his husband might be sleeping. Steve rests an open palm against the door and whispers wishes for sweeter things for Bucky’s dreams. But when Steve reaches his bedroom, he’s quite sure his heart may burst with joy. Those wishes he left at the other room will go unheard since they were said to naught but an empty room. Clothes and shelves full of books and trinkets that hold onto Bucky’s most cherished memories, but not Bucky himself. Bucky is curled up in this bed. Awake or asleep, Steve’s not sure. There’s a soft glow left from a fire, so Steve quickly fusses with it, adds another log to rekindle and warm the room more, the way Bucky likes, before readying for bed. 

When Steve gets into bed next to his husband, Bucky stiffens. Still awake it would seem. Okay. So he’s still… That’s okay. He’s not okay, but that’s not Steve’s fault. Steve takes in a deep breath. Finds solace with it. Bucky is still here with him. Is upset with the world around him, not Steve. Enough so that he wants to be here, in this room, maybe not to be touched, to not give in to the desires Steve knows are deep within him, but to be close enough in reach just in case he changes his mind.

***

Steve doesn’t really remember falling asleep. Barely even remembers closing his eyes. But now there’s something moving close to him. In front of him and he finds himself staring into ice along the shoreline.

He hears, “M’sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Steve blinks. Rubs a fist into his right eye. 

“S’okay.” He mumbles. Dust floating around his brain. Hazy and disoriented. But those eyes he looking at. They’re red and puffy. “R’you crying? Why’re you…” No. Clarity peeks through. He knows the answer to this. Knows why his husband is crying. His fault. Tradition. Protocol. Needs to strip Bucky of more of his life. “I’m sorry,”

Bucky shakes his head. Wipes his thumb under Steve’s eye for some reason. Steve rattles his head. Clears the dust away. Just a few particles floating around.

“No, husband, please don’t.” He whispers. “S’not your fault. I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry I…”  
“Bucky…” Steve is about to tell him not to apologize. That he doesn’t need to. But maybe Bucky _does_ need to. “What’re you sorry for?”  
“I… I shut you out, Steve. You asked me not to do that. And I…” Bucky’s voice cracks. “I don’t want to do that. Not anymore. And… after last night…” Tears fill his eyes. “What if… if you needed me? And I…”  
“Hey…” Steve whispers. “I’m okay, Bucky. I promise. I needed you last night and you were there. You needed me to give you space today. That’s how this works. We’ll give each other what we need when we need it.”  
Bucky’s face scrunches a bit with his nod. “Okay. I’m sorry.”  
“Sh.” Steve pets the side of Bucky’s face. He doesn’t cringe, doesn’t pull away now. Accepts it like releasing a long held breath. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Bucky. I understand.”

Long lashes sweep over those big eyes of his. Once, then twice before Bucky shifts a little closer. Close enough that it’s more comfortable for both of them if Steve pulls him into his arms. 

“Thank you, husband,” He murmurs, adding a kiss to the side of Steve’s chin. “Steve? Is it… Am I too late to ask you to have it done tomorrow?”  
“Tomorrow?” The shock is evident even to Steve’s ears. “Bucky, you don’t have…”  
“I just want to get it over with. Please?”  
“Alright.” Steve agrees. “I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll see if I can get someone in first thing in the morning? Is that okay?”

Bucky nods. Nose rubbing against Steve’s chest. He gets closer still. He’s spent the day away from him. Shying away from any physical attention Steve tried to give. Now Bucky’s creeping as close to him as he can possibly get. Like he wishes that he can just get lost in Steve. 

~~

 _It hurts. Bucky hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. Silly of course. Having what was left of his arm sawed off and a metal one attached to his body, seared into his skin, worked into nerves and bones wasn’t going to be a light tickle. Still, this burning, this fire crawling across his shoulder--it’s unbearable. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to rip this thing off._

_Bucky does none of that of course. He smiles and waves for the cameras as he leaves the hospital. Mother at one side, father at the other. Reporters are asking questions. Throwing familiar ones at him. How did it happen? Why won’t they talk about it? There are some new one’s today. These Bucky’s more willing to answer._

_How does it feel? He can’t answer with horrible, so he tells them different. Are you grateful? Indefinitely. What’s the first thing you’ll do with it? (Not punch you in the jaw.) Dance with my sister._

_Only he doesn’t get to dance with his sister. He falls to the floor in the front parlor the second he’s home. Collapses in pain and agony as it ripples through him._

_“Okay, okay,” His mother murmurs, crouched down beside him. “James, honey, it’s okay. Dr. Strange said this could happen. You’re going to be…”_

_She’s about to touch him. Hand reaching down for a gentle caress, a soothing touch he’s known his whole life. One he flings away._

_“No!” He screams. “Don’t touch me!” He can’t handle it. Can’t feel anything other than the burning. “Please! Mother, it hurts! Please!”_  
 _“Winifred, mix the painkillers.” His father says. Order. As her headship. “Go on. I’ll take care of Bucky.”_

_She rises to her feet with a quiet ‘yes, sir’ and goes off to do as she’s told while his father gathers him up in his arms. Bucky screams some more. He hasn’t been carried like this since the night it happened. Since he was a child. But his father still manages to scoop him up as though he were one. Black and red and flames light up in front of his eyes as he’s carried to his room._

_There’s something soft under his body. He thinks. Maybe. Something pricks his skin. Warmth pumps through his veins. Tingling, running through him fast and making eyelids heavy._

_Bucky doesn’t quite fall asleep. The pain lessens. The anguish turns to something more like intoxication. Numbness creeps into his lips and fingertips. There’s a glossy haze surrounding everything._

_“Dad? Father?” His voice comes from him, Bucky’s sure of it, but it sounds far away to his drugged ears. “Are you there?”_  
 _“I’m here, son.”_

_The mattress shifts. Bucky tries to focus on his father, now seated beside him. He blinks, can’t get his bleary vision to fully clear._

_“Where’s mother?”_  
 _“With Rebecca. I told her to keep your sister busy for a while.”_  
 _“Where is Rebecca?”_  
 _“With your mother.”_

_He shakes his head. Wants to see Rebecca. Needs to know that she’s okay and safe._

_“Where’s my sister? Father? Rebecca. Where is she? Bring her to me! I want to see her!”_  
 _“Bucky, Rebecca is perfectly fine. She’s with your mother.”_  
 _He blinks. Whimpers, “S-she’s not lost? She’s not in the snow?”_  
 _“No, son. There’s no snow. It’s all gone. She’s okay.”_  
 _“You promise?”_  
 _“I promise.”_

_Bucky swallows. Tries to. There’s no moisture in his mouth. His lips smack together. His father hands a glass to him. Bucky reaches for it. Finds two hands instead of one. Gasps and the glass shatters in the grip of metal._

_“It’s okay, Bucky.” George comforts and cleans the mess. Though Bucky can’t find it in him to be as upset as he knows he should be. It’ll happen later. He’s sure of it. But the drugs make quick work of apathy. “You’ll learn. Dr. Strange will be here in the morning to help.”_  
 _“It hurts.” Bucky whispers. “It’s cold.”_

_It’s not cold. Not really. Bucky can’t feel it. But the metal arm already likes to make him think he can. Makes him think it’s heavy and cold when it’s no heavier than his right arm, no colder than it either._

_Bucky whimpers, “It’s not mine. It’s not real. Not… mine.”_  
 _“It is yours, son. It’s yours, Bucky. Your arm. Part of you now.”_  
 _“No!” Bucky roars. Head spins, lips have no feeling still. “It’s not mine. Not even real! Just…” He grabs at it. Grabs where metal meets flesh and tugs. Feels the pain and doesn’t care. Relishes in it. Makes it feel just a little more real. Still screams, “It’s just metal! It’s not mine! It’s not real! Not mine… not mine…”_

_George pulls his hand away. Yells words at him, though Bucky can hardly hear them over the screaming in his own head. Over the tormenting mockery of the metal arm._

_“Bucky, stop!”_

_The slap across his face makes the yelling, in his head, from the metal, from his father, all of it, stop._

_“I’m sorry, son, just…” George’s voice calms. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”_  
 _“Dad… Father… I’m sorry… I…” There are drops of blood on the tips of his fingers. George is pressing a cloth to Bucky’s arm. Bucky’s bleeding. Just a little. But his father is cleaning him up. “It’s not mine.” He weeps again. “It’s not my arm, Dad.”_  
 _“Not yours.” George murmurs. Then nods. “Okay. I’ll make it yours.”_

_Bucky’s alone. He only knows it because there’s no one answering when he speaks out. It feels like ages and ages until his father returns. Bucky’s not sure when he does, but he’s just there with him again. As though he’s been with him the whole time. He’s doing something. Next to him. Over at his arm. George is moving about, hands delicately and carefully touching the metal. Bucky can feel the pressure and a bit of an ache where the arm is attached, but nothing else._

_“Father?”_  
 _“Don’t move, Bucky. Just like I told you, son.”_  
 _“But… what’re you…”_  
 _“It’s your arm now, Bucky. I’m making it more so. Making you believe it.”_  
 _“Father… M’tired…”_  
 _“Put your head back. Rest.”_

_He does. Finds his head comfortable against a bunch of pillows. Happy to take all the weight from him. To help him sleep. They murmur lullabies and sweet dreams encouragement._

_When Bucky’s eyes open, his hand automatically moves to the corner of his mouth. Wipes it dry. He’s not been sleeping long. Father’s still in the room with him._

_“Dad?”_

_Groggy still. Painkillers very much clinging to every inch of his body. Thankfully. No agony there to rip through him again._

_“Don’t move too fast, son. You’ll hurt yourself.”_

_He’s right. The second Bucky goes to move, his entire head feels like it’s spinning around his neck. Vision fades in and out and if his father didn’t take hold of his right shoulder, he’d fall off the side of the bed._

_“Okay. You’re okay.” George assures him as the room settles again. “I’ve got you.”_  
 _“Father... what…” Bucky blinks. Rubs the bottoms of his palms into tired eyes. “What’d you do?”_  
 _“This…” He picks up the brass-finished, hand mirror from off Bucky’s dresser. Holds it to the left. “Look.” George instructs when Bucky just stares up at him. “It’s yours, son. Your arm. Now no one, nothing, not even you, can say otherwise.”_

_Fingertips, metal, hard and silver, reach out and touch the mirror, where the House of Barnes’ creed and symbol have been painted onto the shoulder of the new arm. It makes a small clanking noise when the fingers make contact with the glass. Another noise, a quiet wooshing sound, almost like wind rushing through thin branches of winter trees, comes from the fingers when he closes them._

_Bucky glances at the shoulder. Attached to his body. With his Houses’ creed, symbol, marked permanently on him. Painted on by his father, the Head of the House’s, hands. His eyes trail down the rest of the arm, to the hand and fingers. They wiggle at him. He… wiggles them._

_“Mine…” Bucky gasps. Looks at the… at his shoulder again. Whips his gaze up at his father. “My arm. It’s… Dad… Father, it’s my arm.”_  
 _“Yes… Yes, Bucky. Son, it’s your arm. Yours.”_

_Tears fill Bucky’s eyes. He reaches out with his arm. Metal yes, but his. He even has proof now. On the side. On his shoulder. Etched there in ink. Permanently. By the Head of his House._

_“My arm. It’s mine.” Bucky feels a floating sensation buzzing through his mind. Perhaps he’ll crash back down to the ground later. But for now, for now he’s okay. With his arm. His. “Thank you, Dad. For my arm. My arm.”_

Steve is holding his hand. Left. Flesh and metal cupped together. Hasn’t left his side since he asked him to stay. As promised, his husband got someone to come in bright and early. Right after breakfast, though Bucky hadn’t really been all that hungry. He pushed most of his eggs and sausages around his dish and probably wouldn’t have eaten any of it if Steve hadn’t told him to. Kindly. Coming out as a request, yes, but was most definitely an order. So he had some of it.

The man’s been at it for nearly an hour, scrubbing a rough brush dipped in some sort of cleanser against Bucky’s shoulder, using a flat-headed tool to scrape away stubborn paint. Paint that desires to stay with Bucky as much as he desires it to stay with him.

The touch is even rough sometimes, as though it’s a forgotten thought that he’s working on a person, spending so much time working on objects and things. Doors, windows, buildings, poles. A metal arm. Just a hunk of metal that just so happens to be attached to a body. Bucky’s jostled about, in too much of a daze to really push against the man’s handy work and still himself, but he really does get harsh, body shoved this way and that as the brush scrubs against his shoulder and the tool pushes even more.

It’s Steve who reminds him that Bucky’s a human being and to be gentler. Threatens not to pay him after it happens more than once. To be honest, Bucky’s not sure he minds all that much. Means it’s giving him a hard time. The last bit of him, the last part of his father’s trying to stay with him that much longer. Anyway, Bucky’s too busy staring straight ahead, trying to keep from crying to say anything. 

Paint drips down his arm as the House of Barnes symbol and sigil is washed away forever. Black and red trails as though his arm sheds tears of its own. The man, whose name was said sometime when he first arrived but Bucky made no attempts to remember it, wipes it dry every few minutes and begins again.

After three hours, the man is wiping a white cloth over Bucky’s shoulder. Polishing. Going over and over the spot to make sure he’s not missed anything. Nothing left to ever prove that there was anything there. Bucky’s neck is sore. His stomach hurts. And when the man huffs his hot, stale breath onto his shoulder to clean some more he wants to punch him in the nose. He doesn’t need to though. Steve damn near rips him away. Snags him by the wrist and hauls him to his feet. Tells him to collect his things.

“I, begging your pardon, m’Lord.” The man fumbles with his lips and words and eyes as he attempts to look at Steve and fails miserably. “I meant no harm, sir. I only…”  
“Would you like me to clean your arm with my breath?” Steve growls. “Is that how civilized men behave?”  
“No… I… no, m’Lord, but…”  
“No _buts_. That is my husband’s _arm_ you were handling. Not some _thing_. Not just some _piece_ of metal. His _arm_. Now kindly gather your things and get out. You will not be receiving good words from us.” 

Truvie is there, helping make a quicker pace of the man’s exit. She appears almost as angry as Steve sounds, yet manages to maintain an air of professionalism about her. Bucky’s not sure if she’s seen what’s happened or was able to piece it together by Steve’s voice. Either way, she’s already gathered the man’s battered coat and hat, there’s a scarf flung over her arm as well, and is helping him into them, _almost_ roughly. Ushering him out, _almost_ too quickly. 

No one is paying any attention to Bucky as it’s all happening. He doesn’t do it on purpose. Doesn’t want to see. But he does. And his eyes act on their own. Look down to his new left shoulder. His stomach turns. Bile climbs up his throat. Burns the whole time, but it falls back down to his belly. 

Clean metal. Polished enough it glistens like new. A spot that once claimed him a permanent member in the House of Barnes. There’s nothing there now. It’s gone. Empty. That man has taken it away, and taken something of Bucky with it. Erased a part of him. It’s mixed in with the swirls of colors in the dirty bucket of water destined to be dumped along the curb out front. His arm is gone.

“Bucky?” Steve. His husband calling out to him from somewhere far, far away. “Bucky, can you hear me?”

He’s right in front of him. Crouched down, alarmed. Hands at Bucky’s hips to pull him back there with him. 

“You let that man take my arm.”

The words come out one by one. Slow, precise and accurate. Each one a hard hit to his husband. Each one a lie.

 _Careful. Don’t do this._ His heart warns. _Don’t push._  
 _My arm. It’s gone._

Steve looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. All air shoved from his lungs. Bucky shakes his head. Wants to apologize. Can’t find the right words.

“Steve…” He whispers. Wraps fingers around the hands still touching his hips. “My arm… gone…”

Air must return to his husband. Color fills his cheeks, but his eyebrows stitch. Confused and misunderstanding. Steve looks to Bucky’s left. He grazes the metal there. 

“Bucky…?”  
“It’s not mine…” He mumbles. “Not anymore. Dad made it mine. That day.” Bucky knows he might not be making sense. There are no drugs this time, but it feels like there are. Drugs pumping through him and turning proper thoughts into fog and wisps of daydreams. “It’s gone. Not mine now.”

“Your… oh… oh, Bucky…” Steve stands back up, understanding touching his face. He does understand too. Bucky can see it. Sees the moment his mismatched and frazzled words shape perfectly to Steve’s mind. “Bucky, I’m…” He’s going to apologize again. Make him feel worse. Only instead of the word sorry coming out he says, “It’s still yours. It’s _yours_ , baby. Nothing can change that.”

Bucky glances at the metal growing out of his body. Metal cold and heavy, weighing that side of his body down. It’s not right. That’s not what it’s supposed to look like. Not his. It’s not his.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not mine. Not right.”

It’s quiet. Silence moving over them like night spreading over the city skyline. Bucky sinks further into it. Into the haze that his mind’s created for him. Heart tries to pull him out, pleading desperate words to keep him out. He can’t help it. Bucky doesn’t want to sink, doesn’t want to slip further and further and further, but also can’t find something to grip onto. Nothing solid to keep from going. 

“Stand up.”

Until that. Two words that stop him right where he is. Goes no more nor does he rise. Two words from a voice so sound and strong, keeps him grounded, anchored here. Bucky glances up into sunshine.

“On your feet. Listen to your husband, Bucky.”

Firm, but gentle. Patiently telling him to do something with every expectation of being obeyed. Hands held out in front of him to help with the command. Bucky places his hands in Steve’s and is brought to his feet, leaving most of the haze and mist below. 

“Come on, come with me.” Steve wraps his arm around his waist as he leads him to the second floor.  
“Where are we going?”  
“Sh. I’m going to ask you to trust me. Is that okay, Bucky? Can you trust me? Just for a little bit?”

They’re headed towards the bedroom. Their bedroom, and Bucky glances at his husband. Lashes blink over his eyes and Steve looks back at him. Face imploring. Asking for just a moment of trust. 

“But… Steve…”  
“Please?” He sounds so sad. “I understand that it takes time. I’m only asking…”  
“No you don’t under… I do, Steve.”  
“You do?”  
“Trust you.” Bucky rattles his head. Still not making sense, he thinks. “I do trust you, husband.”

Steve stops them. Just in front of the master suite’s bathroom. He’s looking at the door to it, eyes wide, back straight enough that it’s making Bucky stand up a little too straight as a result. He peers down at him, lashes wet. 

“You do?” He whispers.  
“Trust you?” Bucky repeats mostly to himself. “With me. With us. I trust you, Steve. I do.”  
“Bucky…” A breath of his name, barely even spoken. Bucky’s not even sure if he’s heard it or not. Steve let’s go of him and Bucky nearly whimpers. A pathetic sound, really. But his husband touches his chin. Says, soft and sweet, “I know you don’t want me to say it, but… Bucky, I am sorry. I’m sorry I had to make you do this today.”  
“I know.” He chokes on the answer. It hurts. Burns his throat. “I know, Steve.”

He can’t look at it. At the thing that used to be his arm. A tremble breaks through him. Makes him gasp and Steve puts his arm back around him. Guides him into the bathroom where he lets go again. Only this time Bucky clings onto his shirt. He doesn’t know why he feels so needy, so attached to Steve, but he really doesn’t want him to go anywhere. 

“It’s okay, Bucky.” He assures him. “I’m just going to turn to water on.”

Bucky looks over at the tub. Clawfoot and copper, tucked into the corner with black coated pipes rising out of the floor in front of it. Steve does what he says. Turns the knobs, they squeak, the pipes rattle a bit at the first rush of water. 

“You like it warm, right?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Fearful of startling him, maybe. “Hot even?”  
“Yes?”  
“Okay. Take your clothes off.”  
“I…” Bucky hesitates. Stares at his husband.  
“You said trusted me?” Steve asks. “It’s okay. Not what you think. I promise.”

He nods and does what he’s told. Minor embarrassment flushing through his skin as he first sheds his shirt, followed by his trousers, all his clothes ending up in a pile by his feet. Over by the tub, filling with water, a thin layer of steam dancing out it, Steve is pouring soap, bath oils and bubbles into it. When he turns to look, Steve’s eyes don’t wander over his naked body like he suspected they would. Instead, his husband only holds a hand out, helps him into the tub. Nakedness disappearing under the bubbles and dark water. Vulnerability staying on top. 

Eyes casted down, watching swirls of soaps and bubbles glide across the surface of the water, Bucky doesn’t notice when Steve takes the big, thick sponge. It’s just up against his skin. Squeezing water where his back is still dry, trickling it down into the tub again. Bucky jolts upright. Scares the water enough that some of it hops up and over the side. Steve’s hand wraps around the back of his neck. Steady, possessive almost. Keeps him still. 

_Who does he think he is?_ His back asks at first feel of the sponge.  
 _I don’t know._ Bucky growls. _But I’ll…_  
 _No…_ Back whispers. _Wait…_

He’s not a child. Bucky’s not. He’s a grown man. Very capable of washing himself. Of caring for himself. Metal parts and all. But… and the thought comes on rather suddenly, with vivid clarity and startling realization. He doesn’t feel like he’s being treated as a child. He feels… cherished. Feels as though Steve very well might go to the ends of the Earth, move worlds themselves, to help him. 

Eyes seek his husband, fully dressed, gentleman of Society, kneeling at the side of his--of _their_ \--tub, diligently and gently washing his naked body, running the sponge softly along his skin. Tears slip from Bucky’s eyes. He can barely feel them. They’re there though. Mixing in with soapy water. Steve says nothing when he notices them. Simply brushes them away with his wet thumb. 

“I don’t understand you.” Bucky whispers.

Steve pauses in his washing. Sponge resting right at Bucky’s throat. He says nothing, but the question is on his face. He’d like to know why.

“You never do what I expect. You always… never…” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

His husband. Somehow always making him feel things he never even thought possible. Bucky doesn’t even know what he feels right now. On the brink of plunging headfirst into a sea of anguish of knowing his arm’s been taken from him, and quite possibly ready to burst into sobs of joy knowing Steve Rogers is his husband. _His_ husband and no one elses. 

Instead of questioning him, Steve leans over the water, tie he put on to dress the part for the man who took Bucky’s arm sinking into it without a care. His lips seek out the side of Bucky’s dripping head, still waiting for him to say yes. Which he does, with a silent nod. Steve kisses, gets his lips wet with soapy water and doesn’t even wipe them dry. 

“Come on. Stand up. Let me rinse you off.”

He does. Stands on shaky legs, and Steve holds the warm, nearly hot water from the shower head over him. Friendly drops that wash away the dirtied water, melt to his skin and leave it almost pink and definitely fresh and clean. 

When he’s done, much too soon for Bucky’s liking since the water’s kind enough to stay warm for him so much longer here than the home he shared with his family, Steve wraps him in a huge towel. Steve sized. Big, fluffy. Soft, conforms to his body like sunrays on a summer’s day, and Bucky feels safe. Protected. Even standing in the middle of the bathroom, hair damp, water soaking into carpet beneath his feet, only a towel to shield him from the rest of the world, he feels safe and protected. Here with Steve. 

“Now come with me. Over here.” Steve instructs and steers him near the sink. Stands behind him and speaks into his ear. “Look…” His voice is just a whisper as his hand slips the towel away. Lets it fall to the floor. A chill hits Bucky’s skin, but he’s much too flushed to let it bother him. “Yours, Bucky. That’s your arm. You see?”

Bucky watches in the mirror. Sees and feels the touch of fingertips, Steve’s fingers trailing along the scar tissue there. Raised, ugly patches of skin. Marred between metal and flesh. Forever sealing the truth of his lowly worth across his body. 

The touch, shiver sending and soft and wonderful, disappears when Steve reaches the hunk of metal hanging there. Whispers again, “Yours, baby. Your arm. No one can ever take that from you.” He laces his fingers with the metal ones. Lifts it so Bucky can see them in the mirror. “ _No one_. That’s all you, Bucky.” He says in French, “C'est ton bras. _Your arm_.”

Bucky’s breath hitches when Steve’s fingers reach skin again. He puts his hand atop his husband’s, catches it before it can go any further. Stares in the mirror. Steve’s hand, big and strong, gentle, firm, warm, perfect in almost all ways, sits upon both flesh and metal. Bumps of pink skin clumped together where wounds healed and flat, sleek silver plates fitted over one another in symmetric beauty. Both claimed under one palm. On one body. His.

“Mine…” Bucky whispers. Dizzy, as his eyes drift from the mirror to the arm itself. His arm. Locked in place by his and his husband’s hands. “My arm.” Mine.”  
“Yes.” Steve murmurs. “Yours.” 

He takes both their hands away, replaces them with his lips. Doesn’t ask for permission this time. Asserts rights as headship. Knows he can, and Bucky’s glad. Couldn’t say yes, and wouldn’t stay no. Steve kisses there. A spot so few have ever touched. A spot no lips have come near until now. 

“Yours.” Steve whispers again. Hot breath gliding across skin, spreads like sunrise. He kisses again. “Your beautiful arm.” He says in French, a repeat of the same, Bucky thinks, “Beau bras.” Steve presses his lips down once more. This time firmer, holding a bit longer and says again, “Yours.”

A spot meant only for Steve, his now. It belongs to him. The spot whimpers when Steve moves away. No longer feels so ugly. Not if his husband thinks it’s beautiful.

 _I’m his._ The spot says. _All his_.

But there’s something more with Steve’s final declaration. His one last, _yours_. Not just Bucky’s arm. Bucky.

Bucky says to the spot, _Your his. I’m his. And he’s mine._

He turns and look up at his husband. Steve regards him carefully. Caution in the sunshine as he slips two fingers across his brow. Wipes those mind-of-their-own hairs away, tucks them behind Bucky’s ear. Ever searching for a way to back out and play. Bucky wants to thank him. Find the words, words that’ll never be right for him.

He settles on whispering, “Mine,” and wonders if Steve will understand. 

For a moment Steve stares at him. When he breathes out gently, steps in and pulls Bucky in close, Bucky’s sure he does. Does understand his meaning, and he nods when Steve has his mouth touching his wet hair. Steve kisses his head.

“Yours.” He murmurs. They’re pressed together, Bucky’s naked body damp, leaving drops of water into Steve’s clothes and Steve doesn’t seem to mind in the least. He just hugs him closer, then whispers, “Mine.”

Bucky grins into Steve’s shirt. Says back to him, “Yours.”

Arm lost once by tragedy. A new one, sealed by his father, taken away by a stranger, and given back to Bucky by Steve.

His husband.  
His headship.  
His.  
All his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone!! Happy Fifteenth Year of the New Millennium! I hope the first nine days have been kind to you! 
> 
> So there was our first update of the year. There's only one chapter this week, but your invitation to Steve and Bucky's Dinner Party can be found in the [DVD Extras](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2653142/chapters/6833588). if you care to check that out. 
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed! Next week there might be two chapters depending upon how busy I am. I'm actually currently working on this and another piece that has completely sucked me in which has never happened really happened before. Not having more than one story consume me like this. But this is still my top priority! 
> 
> Okay well, first visuals of the year!
> 
> Bucky being told he needs to have the House of Barnes' creed washed off. ((I'm sorry for the Winter Soldier gif, but the image really is perfect))
> 
>  
> 
> Leaving the room angry
> 
>  
> 
> The moment he realizes that Steve is really his and that he's Steve's
> 
>  
> 
> Steve when he's talking with Peggy
> 
>  
> 
> Do not mess with this man's husband. He does not take kindly to it.
> 
>  
> 
> Peggy giving Steve comfort and advice
> 
>  
> 
> And Gabe in an off screen moment playing games with Sharon 
> 
>  
> 
> Just a reminder to those living in this world they have certain expectations to live up to if they want to be accepted. These can be found in various spots around the cities, but more specifically poorer areas not within Society. 
> 
>  
> 
> ((for anyone not sure, these were signs found in the United States during the 1920s and 30s in association with [eugenics](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugenics)))
> 
> Right so that's it for this week! Tune in next Friday for our regularly broadcasted update!


	19. I'm Having Boston Market For Dinner Tonight And I'm So Excited! But Here's Chapter Nineteen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Steve and Bucky will be getting on a train. _Nothing_ bad will be happening on the train. I swear.

There’re footsteps coming up the steps. Soft sounds, almost silent, but he’s grown used to them over the past few weeks. Bucky smiles into his pillow. Knows the sounds of his husband’s return from his early morning run with Sam. Earlier today than most days. Sun still hidden beneath the horizon. Not ready to come up and play. 

The door of their bedroom creaks open. Slow and soft. Floorboards talk amongst themselves as Steve crosses the room. Two thuds hit the floor. Steve’s shoes coming off probably. It’s quiet for a few moments. Quiet enough, comfortable enough that Bucky’s able to begin drifting back to sleep. On the rare occasion that he wakes when Steve leaves, Bucky finds himself restless until he knows for sure that he’s gotten home. Then he feels the blankets lift. The mattress shifting under Steve’s weight. Which means his husband’s getting back into bed with him. 

Oh no. 

This is not something he always does. Steve usually returns and then heads straight to the bathroom to shower. Bucky tenses. Face hiding deeply into the pillow, every muscle tight. Prepared for what’s likely to come next. Whenever Steve does this, climbs into bed, joins Bucky under the nice, warm covers, it’s usually accompanied by…

Bucky yelps. Squeezes the pillow, jumps in place, grunts something incoherent that may have started out as Steve’s name into the blankets. Yes, today’s no different and two cold feet, ten icicle toes, shove up against Bucky’s once warm, cozy legs. Ice cold skin pressed up against his warmth, stealing it away and behind him his husband is chuckling. Wraps an arm around him to pull him in closer, but leaving those cold feet right where they are.

“Good morning,” He murmurs sweetly. So sweet it’s as though he’s pretending he’s forgotten he’s not rudely shoved his icy extremities up against Bucky’s body. “S’time to get up.”  
“Mmm.” Bucky groans, trying to inch away, but not really trying to inch away. Despite the ice pressed up against his legs, being in Steve’s arms feels too nice to not want to be here. “No. Go away. M’sleeping.”

There’s a snicker right by his ear. Nice warm breath, deliciously spreading across Bucky’s neck and tickling his skin just slightly.

“I told you,” He whispers. “We need to be up and out early today.”  
Bucky shakes his head across the pillow. “No, no, no.” Lips pout into it. He’s sure Steve knows. Sure Steve’s smiles at him too. “Too early. Sun’s not up.”  
“I know.” Steve chuckles. 

Fingers’re slipping up the bottom of Bucky’s shirt. They’re cold too. Not as, not since they’ve had a bit more time to warm up, but they still make him shiver under their quiet touch. 

“You’re too mean, husband.” Bucky mumbles into the pillow. Smile unwilling to leave even his voice.

 _You don’t want it to anyway_. His lips point out.  
 _I… okay fine_.

“Yes, I know.” Steve’s smile is in his voice as well. Playful and teasing. Lips seek out the back of Bucky’s neck. They’re still there when Steve says, “May I kiss you, Bucky?”  
“No.” He grumbles. 

Not because he doesn’t want the kiss. Just because he can. Because it makes him smile when Steve whines behind him and doesn’t kiss him even though he wants to and most certainly can. Because in a little over a week they’ll be married four months and Steve still does as he promised he would and asks and waits for that okay. Because Bucky only ever says no to tease him like this. Because Steve’s cute little whines and whimpers of, “Please? Please, Bucky? Please can’t your husband kiss you?” makes his heart flutter and his stomach boil over with heat. Coils around all his bones and has his teeth digging into his lip. 

Still, he shakes his head, holds in a giggle and whispers, “Nope.”  
“Please…” Steve whimpers. High pitched and desperate. Sounds of a man needing so badly to be given his desires lest he cease to exist. “Pretty please?”

Bucky turns his head. One eye visible, albeit through several strands of mopped hair. Sleep worn and messy, but he can still make Steve out through the curtain over his face. See that pleading look on his face, the endearing pull in those baby blues. Bucky smothers a laugh back into the billowy softness. Pillow laughing along with him. 

“Okay, okay.” He says, mouth still against silk. “Just one.”  
“Aw, you’re too good to me.” Steve chuckles as he kisses that spot on the back of Bucky’s neck. “So good.” He says and then, probably without realizing as he comes to do every now and then, kisses once more.

Bucky gasps. 

“That was _two_ kisses, husband.” Because he can scold him. Playfully. Because Steve likes to play with him and wants as much as he does to be friends and not have a marriage rooted in tradition but built around each other. “I specifically said you could have _one_.”

Steve’s fingers rub the spot his lips stole that kiss. Trying to take it back. 

“You are right, sir.” He sighs. “My apologies. Whatever shall you do about it?”  
“Hm.” Bucky rolls over to face his husband. Steve needs to lift himself up a bit to allow the room. Stares down at him like he’s the best thing he’s seen all morning. All week. Waking up with Steve. Bucky smiles. “I’ll think of something. Five more minutes?”

Steve drops his head on the pillow right next to Bucky’s. Grinning. Isn’t looking when his fingers trail lightly along the nape of his neck. Bucky breathes in deeply. Relaxed and getting lazy again with Steve doing that. Eyes heavy, he’s trying not to fall asleep. Steve hasn’t fully agreed to letting him have those five more minutes. He hasn’t denied him either, but hasn’t agreed. 

So when it’s dark and hazy, yet a tinge of light around the corners of his eyes, Bucky’s thoroughly confused. Even more so when he feels his cheek buried against his damp pillow. Drool at the corner of his mouth most likely.

“Bucky,” Steve is murmuring. “Come on, baby. You have to get up now.”  
“Mmm.” Is all he can really manage.  
Steve chuckles. Runs fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Come on. Listen to your husband.”

Oh. That always gets a better response. Bucky wants to listen to him. Wants to uphold the vows he’s made. He finds his voice.

Grumbles, “You said five more minutes.”  
“I said no such thing,” He snickers. “And I gave you thirty.”

Thirty? Minutes? 

Bucky pries his eyes open. Finds himself on his belly again, pillow tucked under his arms, facing his husband. Smiles at the sight.

“Hi.” He says.  
“Hello,” Steve grins at him. “Come on now. I need you to get up.”  
“You still won’t tell me where we’re going?”  
He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”  
“You know,” Bucky clicks his tongue. Gets out a lazy yawn and stretch, “if the public saw this side of you, I don’t know how eager they’d be to vote you Best Catch.”  
“Oh is that right?” He laughs and sits up.  
“No.” Bucky’s stretching again. Chasing sleep away from resting muscles not yet ready to start the early day. “But it’s okay.” Mouth talking. Mind not thinking. “You’re _my_ Best Catch.”

Steve glances down at him. Smile growing. Words having crawled into his ears before they’ve really struck Bucky. When they do, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Oh!” 

He claps a hand over his mouth. Metal hand over that one. Perhaps he can just leave them there. Keep from saying anything else. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone and said something in early morning haze and remnants of dreamy sleep. Made his face burn with the too late realizations of what his tongue’s let slip. 

Eyes gliding up, he takes a glimpse at his husband. Grinning ear to ear down at him. Makes Bucky blush even more. 

“I kinda love you in the morning,” Steve laughs. “No filter on that mouth. Total honesty. But if I’m your Best Catch, does that mean you’re my Sweetheart?”

Bucky groans and rolls over. Tucks himself into Steve’s hip where his husband pets his head.

“I suppose. It seems to make sense.” He murmurs into Steve’s leg.

He’s smiling at the idea of Steve being his Best Catch. Same with thoughts of being Steve’s Sweetheart. No longer belonging to Society. Each other’s now. A stage persona for the papers, for the public. Best Catch and Sweetheart, truly, in private. Their own secret. 

He’s also acutely aware of what Steve’s just said to him. _I kinda love you in the morning_. Those words. Each of them seeping deeply into the marrow of his bones, making home there. Not three words. Not precisely. Not all of them, put together in the right order. They were there though. Perhaps Steve didn’t quite mean them the way Bucky desires, but when he peeks up at him, a blush is fading away. 

Steve clears his throat. “Come on now. Do as your told and get up. We have somewhere to be.” He starts to slide out from under him. Is just off the bed when he says, “And if you’re lucky, perhaps you’ll hear those five favorite words of yours.”  
“Five favorite...?” Bucky lifts his head up. Smirk tugging on his lips. “You have something for me? Two days before Christmastide?”

There’s a twinkle in Steve’s eyes when he looks back at him. Stars lighting them. Mischievous. Excited even. 

“Maybe.” He hovers over the bed. Smirks down at Bucky and then, without any warning whatsoever, slaps a hand down on his rear end. Shoots intoxicating heat, warm and welcoming, through Bucky’s whole body. “Now up and at ‘em, my Sweetheart.”  
“You…” Bucky mutters. Breathless. Unaware Steve’s touch could have so many different affects on him. “You are utterly unfair, husband.”  
Steve chuckles. Leans in with his hand back on his bottom and mouth right by Bucky’s ear. “Dépêchez-vous.” He whispers. “We’re going to be late if you don’t move along.” He gives Bucky another playful swat. “Come on now. I expect you up by the time I’m out of the shower.”

That doesn’t give him much time. Steve can shower fairly quickly. Bucky watches his husband as he disappears into the bathroom. A smile curves up on his mouth. Just because. Bucky’s smiling just because he can. Because he wants to. Smiling because he can’t really help it. 

***

“Your luggage is all packed, Lord Rogers.” Truvie says as they gather in the entryway. “Stiles is loading it to the back of the motorcar now.”

Bucky can see it happening through the open door. Stiles lifting a trunk packed by Truvie. With what, Bucky’s not sure of since he’s still not been told where they’re going. The trunk joins two other suitcases already secure on the metal rack. A cold wind comes in uninvited. Traipses around the entry as they ready to leave. Makes Bucky shudder under his coat. He pulls it tighter around him. 

It’s lighter out now. Hues of ambers and dark, dark pinks swirl in the sky as the sun peek out between the bottoms of the buildings to the east. A soft glow blankets over the streets. Rays that hug concrete and sidewalks, shops and homes. 

They rushed through a light breakfast. Bucky’s extra thirty minutes of sleep saw to that. His husband teased him about making them late. Smiled the whole time. 

“Thank you, Truvie.” Steve replies as she helps him into his coat. “We’re all set then?”  
“Everything’s been taken care of. As usual.”

Bucky sighs. Loud enough to draw the attention of both husband and Housekeeper. He pouts lips at Steve. Earns a quiet chuckle. Everyone knows where they’re headed, except him--even those not going. 

“It’s nothing spectacular,” Steve states. “Promise.”  
Bucky jerks his knee. “Then why won’t you _tell me_?”  
“Because this is more fun.” He laughs and touches the side of Bucky’s face. “Besides, I _did_ promise you those five favorite words, didn’t I?”

That’s right. Steve told him, indirectly anyway, that he has something for him. Even if it is only two days before Christmastide and the bedroom has been filling up with brown papered packages, also packed up in their luggage. 

Bucky can feel his face light up with anticipation, watches the sunrise across Steve’s smile. A sunbeam has nestled across Steve’s jaw line.

“Check your pocket.” He murmurs. “The one you _think_ you’re hiding your cigarettes from me in.”  
“I…” Oops. “But… um…” Bucky throws a helpless glance towards Truvie. She only shrugs before heading outside to assist Stiles. First time she has no power to help him. An impish smile inches across his mouth. “Sorry?”  
“Hm.” Steve shakes his head. That bright, wicked smile of his lighting his face. The one that Bucky’s starting to love. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” He steps up close. Hand rises. Strong and powerful, sweet and tender all in one. Doesn’t touch Bucky though. Leaves it painfully near the side of his face. “Why else would you be sneaking outside in the middle of the night? Come back to bed all cold?”

Thoughts gone. All of them but wanting Steve’s hand on him. That touch. So soft. So strong. So perfect. Bucky holds in a whimper. Possibly. It may very well have escaped his lips, all needy and pathetic. He’s too busy looking from that hand to those eyes over and over again. There’s a chuckle. From Steve, he thinks. 

“Is that right, Bucky?” Steve wonders. Voice cool, casual. Knowing exactly what he’s doing. Disconnecting Bucky’s brain very purposely. “Did you think I didn’t know?”  
“Oh…” That’s a whimper. Throat doesn’t hold it in. Can’t. Bucky’s breathless. Finding air hard to suck in. Lungs needing too much at the moment and just not getting enough. “Yes.”

Steve nods and finally puts that hand at the side of Bucky’s face. Tremors shoot through Bucky’s knees at the contact. Tiny, little vibrations that poke at his legs and threaten to make them buckle under his weight. Steve takes hold of his hip. Keeps him up--steady. 

Lips succulent, moist and close, Steve says, “I’m going to kiss you, Bucky.”

Bucky can’t feel anything other than the buzz going through him. Blood pumping hard, loud in his ear and hot under his skin. Steve still hasn’t moved any closer. Hasn’t kissed him yet. 

“Okay?”

Okay? Oh. He wants permission. Steve’s waiting to make sure it’s okay. Bucky’s tries for his voice. Can’t find it. Too many other things going off inside his mind to bring words out. He nods. Steve grins and presses his lips to Bucky’s. Everything lights up. Insides, outside. Bucky’s not sure he’s ever felt this. Kissing Steve, right here, right now, like sunlight pouring into him. Brings every inch of him to life. 

The cold air he’s been trying to hide from all morning has disappeared. Replaced by fire and heat, all from Steve. His husband’s mouth moves to his cheek, trails kisses all along his cheekbone.

“You haven’t checked your pocket, my Sweetheart.” He murmurs. Steve pulls away and locks eyes with him. Clear, morning skies almost completely blanketed by tempting night. “Go on.”

Bucky needs to take in a deep breath before he does anything. Brings himself back down to the ground again and finally reaches into his pocket. All he feels is his cigarette case. Hard and cold and still trying to hide from Steve even though he already knows it’s in there. He hesitates. It feels a lot heavier with Steve’s eyes bearing down on him. As if drawing this conclusion, Steve laughs. 

“I already know it’s there, Bucky.” He reminds him. “We’ll talk about you quitting another time.”  
“Yes, Steve.” He whispers and takes it out. 

Nothing about it is different. Just his standard case. Faded silver with his initials engraved in cursive, long, smooth letters, on the front. He glances up to meet his husband’s smirk. 

“Open it.”

Doing just that, Bucky finds the few hand rolled cigarettes are being kept company by a perfectly sized photograph tucked neatly behind them. It’s of them. One taken the day of their photoshoot. Both smiling, Bucky right at the camera, Steve with a dreamy look on his face. It’s in black and white, but… their eyes are in color. Bucky’s never seen this before. Colored photographs are rare enough, but to have a splash of color in one is unheard of. He glances back up at Steve.

“Um… I asked… Peter,” Steve clears his throat. “I asked Peter to make it.” When Bucky doesn’t say anything, he shuffles his feet and pulls at the ends of his coat sleeves. “I just… I told you, your eyes, right? They’re… and you said my eyes? Your favorite…” He trails off and Bucky understands. His favorite color. Blue, like Steve’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” Bucky’s not sure why. “I just… thought… wanted to give you something… I know it’s stupid…”

Bucky leans up on his toes. Interrupts his husband’s fumbling lips with a kiss, cupping his hands around his face and pressing in passionately before he pulls back. Steve looks awed for a moment. Dumbstruck and stupefied before sheer elation brightens his face. Even touches his mouth with shaky fingertips as though what happened may not have been real. Nice to know that maybe Steve’s not the only one with the ability to mystify around here. 

“I love it.” Bucky says. “It’s perfect. Thank you, husband.”  
“Oh…” Steve grins and blushes. “Perfect? You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. Just continues to stare at Bucky with that silly grin. Blushing still. Can’t seem to find words and Bucky’s perfectly thrilled at the thought of rendering his husband bashful. Seems the eye contact only makes it worse. Steve’s mouth opens a few times. Only air comes out. After another moment of not letting Steve out of his gaze, Bucky chuckles, lighthearted and amused, and kisses him again. This puts a fog in Steve’s eyes. Light, hazy and he looks dazed. Pleasantly.

“Did you say something about being late, husband?” Bucky chuckles. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

Pleased with himself, and the slack-jawed, wide-eyed look he’s produced out of his husband, Bucky twirls around and ambles out the door. Tucks his cigarette case back in his pocket. Securing it there and patting it twice. Two taps against his heart. 

Bucky’s almost at the motorcar when an arm catches him around the waist. He snickers as Steve pulls him up against his chest. His husband rests his chin on his shoulder.

“You really are something, you know that?” He murmurs into Bucky’s ear tickling the skin there and guiding them forward.  
Bucky holds in another chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I always did have my suspicions.”

Steve laughs and nuzzles his nose into the side of Bucky’s neck. Activating a little bit of Bucky’s weak spot for being tickled. One thing Steve still hasn’t really discovered and Bucky’s been trying to keep that one locked up tight. He’s already been at Talia’s mercy for years. But he does jerk enough that Steve backs away.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “Did I…” Eyebrows stitch as Steve tries to figure out what just happened. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  
“No, no.” While Bucky’s not ready for Steve to know how ticklish he is, he’s not about to let his husband worry that he’s accidentally harmed him. “I’m okay.”

They’re at the motorcar anyway now and Steve is breaking away to speak with Truvie. He’s pulling a thick envelope out of his coat pocket, sealed closed with the House of Rogers crest. Hands it to her and smiles.

“Truvie,” He says softly. “Happy Christmastide.”

Envelope in hand, her eyes get wide. She looks at it and back to Steve. Truvie gapes at him. Mouth trying for words. Steve only smiles and pushes the envelope closer to her.

“Lord… Lord Rogers… this is… too much, sir…”  
“No, Truvie. You’ve earned it.” He remarks. “Double the work, double the bonus.” Steve gently kisses her cheek. “My love to your family for a very blessed holiday, Truvie. To Jared and the twins.”  
“Thank, m’Lord.” There seems to be tears in Truvie’s eyes. She brushes fingers across them. “Thank you kindly. You best get moving. Don’t want to be late.”  
“Yes, yes. You’re right. Happy Holidays.”

Steve climbs into the motorcar, turns to offer Bucky a hand. Only Bucky just stands there for a moment. He’s trying to come up with a way to offer Truvie a proper farewell. She smiles at him. Bright and cheery, through her misty eyes. Her well-worn and skillful hands flatten down the thick lapels of his frock coat. 

“May you have a happy Christmastide, Lord Barnes.” She murmurs.  
“I… Truvie?”  
“Yes, m’Lord?”

Bucky abandons all attempts of finding the right words and lunges forward instead. Wraps arms around the Housekeeper and pulls her in close. 

“Oh!” She squeaks. Surprised by the sudden affection maybe.  
“Thank you, Truvie.” He whispers and kisses her left cheek then the right. “Thank you.”  
She takes a gentle brush of her fingers across his neck. “You’re very welcome, Lord Barnes.”

He breathes out a smile, kisses her cheek one last time. Sure he’ll say something that’ll make him feel foolish, he gets into the motorcar with his husband. Who grins at him like Bucky’s done something praiseworthy. 

“What?”  
Steve chuckles. “Nothing. Will you kiss me again?”  
“Yes. All you need do is ask me, husband.” Bucky teases. “And I’ll… most likely oblige.”  
“You little tease.” Steve laughs as he takes his face in his hands and kisses him. Somehow keeping it gentle, but firm. 

Bucky giggles into his mouth. Loves the taste. Loves the sensation and all the emotions bubbling through him. 

“Are you going straight to the station, sir?” Stiles asks before he closes the door, interrupting their kiss.  
“Yes, Stiles. Otherwise we’ll miss our train.”  
“Very good, sir.”

As soon as the door is closed, and Steve looks back at Bucky, Bucky’s go wide. Stiles’ comment has just nestled into his mind. 

“We’re taking a train?!” He exclaims. Excitement abounds.  
“Yes?”  
“I’ve… I’ve never taken a train!” Bucky explains. Smile’s pulling wide on his lips. “Mother and Father never let us take trains. I’ve never even seen what up close! I’ve always wanted to! Me and Rebecca used’ta watch ‘em from our front window. Could see the steam coming up before the engine was in view. We always…”

He trails off there. Out of breath. Bucky pops his fingers over his mouth and feels his face heating up with with a blush. Steve is holding back a smile. 

“I… oh I was… I was rambling… wasn’t I?”  
“You were being adorable.” Steve says, gently taking those fingers from his mouth and trailing his own along the top of his hand. “Being honest about something you’re excited about. That’s… that’s the first time I think you’ve done that.” 

He lifts Bucky’s hands to his lips. Flicks his eyes up to him him to ask that way. Bucky can’t help teasing first. Shakes his head until his husband gives him a little pout. He giggles again and gives him the okay. 

Steve kisses his hand. Says, “But… you _have_ been on a train before.”  
“What?” Bucky shakes his head. “N-no I haven’t.”  
His husband chuckles. “You have. The night we married. We took the train off the Isle. Like we will now.”

Bucky has no, absolutely no recollection of that. He swallows hard and tries to pull forth something that might jog some sort of memory. When nothing works, he stares helplessly at Steve.

“I… I don’t remember that.”

Hand still tucked in Steve’s embrace, he gives Bucky a little squeeze and smiles. 

“I know. You passed out before we even got there to the station. I got you to the train and you slept the whole way.”  
“Oh.” Bucky glances at his lap. Nibbles on his lip and peers back at him. “Steve… I’m… I’m sorry. About… that…” He groans a bit. Falls into Steve’s arms when he opens them in invitation. “I’m just sorry.”  
“I know, baby. My Sweetheart.” He pets him gently from the top of his head down to his back. “It’s okay.”

Bucky nuzzles into his chest. Wants to give his thanks, but can’t seem to process anything beyond the feelings running through him when in his husband’s arms. 

The station is packed when they pull up. Mobs of people below Society flooding the lower levels as they make their holiday getaways and a clear path lined with reporters and spectators just for those in Society. Steve scowls at them. Bucky takes his hand.

“Do you do this every year?” He asks.  
Steve nods. “Yes.”  
“Is it always like this?”  
“This busy you mean? Yes.” Steve says after Bucky nods. He takes a deep breath. “Not usually much of a fuss made of me though. This year…”  
“Hey…” Bucky cradles his husband’s cheek. “It’s been a nice morning, hasn’t it?”  
“It has.”  
“And it’s always me and you?”

Steve’s eyes close for a moment. Lost in a world unseen to Bucky. When he reopens them, he cups his hand over Bucky’s. 

“Always.”  
“Then let’s not let them ruin it, okay? No matter what they say? Or ask? And will you kiss me? And we’ll get through there quick, I promise.”

His husband nods. Then blinks and seems a bit thrown by the request Bucky happened to toss in there. An unsuspected stone skipped across a river. 

“Oh. Wow.” Steve chuckles and kisses him. Lingers. Lips kept close enough that Bucky can just feel them brush up against his own when he says, “You’re in rare form today, Bucky. Or perhaps, true to form? Yourself? Yes. Yes to all of that. Please?”

Smiling, Bucky takes hold of his hand as Stiles hands out instructions to some of the station workers. Tells them where to take their luggage, what train their taking, what platform they’ll be going to, and then comes to open the door. As soon as they step out there’re shouts and cheers. People wave, cameras flash. 

The air is filled with the smells and sounds of the approaching holiday. Scents of roasted chestnuts from street vendors carry along the crisp winds. There’re sharp smells of evergreens draped around doors and wreaths that give a festive look to doors and windows. Not all, but some do cling to the superstition that says not to put up greens until the Tides’ Eve. On the street corner street musicians are singing traditional melodies while carolers stroll along, stopping to sing for people and selling sheets of music. 

Busy shoppers hurry along on foot or in carriages getting last minute gifts, a trip to the shop to match a bit of thread, the bakery to order some little bit of tasty goods.

After giving Stiles his bonus, and receiving hearty and humbled thanks in return, Steve guides them towards the circus. Questions start immediately. They pose for a few snapshots, answering as they move through. 

Where are you headed? Steve answers, House Rogers’ tradition. Are you excited for you first Christmastide with your husband, Lord Barnes? Yes, very. Have you gotten closer with each other? Steve wraps an arm around Bucky and replies, I believe so. Bucky nod in agreement; big smile on his face. We love you! bystanders shout. They wave and smile, nod and laugh happy thanks. 

“When did you remove the House of Barnes’ creed from you arm, Lord Barnes?”

Jonah Jameson. Of course. Front and center. His voice, question, all of it, makes Bucky freeze. Who knows how he’s found out. Could have been a number of ways. Steve has gotten in front of him, is about step in on his behalf. No. Bucky’s made Steve a promise.

“Steve?”  
His husband glances down before he can say a word. “Yes?”  
Bucky just shakes his head. “Can… may I?”  
“Of course.”  
“A few weeks ago. It looks different, but it’s still my arm. And no, I won’t be answering any further questions on it.”

The arm around his waist gets tighter. Affectionate and strong. A secure, safe reminder from his husband. His promise being kept as well. Together. Just the two of them.

“Now if you’ll _excuse_ us.” Steve states, loud and clear, almost tauntingly so, “ _we_ have a train to catch.”

He’s been on Bucky’s right the whole time--like he usually is--with his left arm around him. So Steve reaches across his body and holds his hand out for Bucky’s right hand. The very second Bucky gives it to him, Steve spins him out of his embrace--a perfect move for the dance floor, graceful and fluid. Very unlike Steve and perfectly like Steve in that Bucky would double over laughing if Steve didn’t tug him forward in a sprint for the stairs. Just before he reaches them, Steve stops short to look back at him.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes. Stars shining in daytime. Bucky knows that look. Steve wants to kiss him. He’s going to. Bucky wants him to. They’re grinning at each other, wide and excited, and Steve takes him by the back of the neck. Pull him in, leans him back and plants a racy kiss for all to see. Bucky wraps his arms around his husband’s neck. Smiles into the kiss as they receive applause and cheers, whistles and hoots. Flashes are going off as photographers snap what they can with their cameras before Steve tears away, and he and Bucky and sprinting up the stairs.

His sides hurt from laughing. Legs and lungs, too. Bucky’s cheeks are flushed and bursts of misty white frost come out with every heavy breath. By the time he and Steve get to the top, they’re practically falling all over each other. It even takes Steve several tries to pull their tickets out of his pocket to hand them to a worker. She doesn’t seem put off though. Quite the contrary. She smiles at them as she looks the tickets over and tells them what platform to wait at. 

“Was that okay?” Steve asks as his breaths gradually return to normal. “Kissing you like that?”  
“Ah-ha.” Bucky laughs. Rubbing his gloved hands together for more warmth and standing on tip-toes in hopes of catching a glimpse of the locomotive before anyone else. 

Not everyone will like it of course. Not the way ladies or gentlemen should be behaving out in public. Small tokens of affection are one thing. Displays, however, an outright _show_ like the one they just put on, will turn a few heads, possibly stir up unnecessary gossip. Bucky doesn’t care. Not right now. Obviously Steve doesn’t either. 

There aren’t any trains pulled in yet. But there are people scattered all about. Not like on the lower levels where everyone is packed together. Luggage piled in heaps with best wishes of being tossed on the right train, everyone loud, and steams from the trains up top pouring out above them. There’s space up here. Kids throwing metal tops across the concrete, watching them spin round and round while a few gentlemen and ladies enjoy cigars and cigarettes, light conversation and polite laughter. Their own private bubble away from the world below. 

“You didn’t get to finish your coffee.” Steve murmurs, hands hugged around Bucky’s biceps.  
“No, I didn’t.” Bucky glances over his shoulder. Narrows his eyes like he’s annoyed by this when he’s anything but. “ _Someone_ was rushing me.”

Steve jostles him. Pulls him in and chuckles close to Bucky’s ear. A shiver crawls down Bucky’s spine. Nothing to do with the cold.

“Would you like some?” Steve offers. “They sell it. I could get you a cup?”  
“Do we have time?”  
“I believe I can spare a minute to get my Sweetheart a cup of coffee.”

 _No! Don’t go!_ His hands plead, tightening around Steve’s wrists.  
 _Oh… I… oh you’re right. I don’t want him to either._

An utterly, pathetic feeling washes over him. Bucky’s never felt so attached to anyone in his life. 

“Okay.” He whispers. Loosens his ridiculous grip. “I’d love some, Steve.”  
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Steve says as he starts off. Bucky feels the cold air rush to his back as he leaves. He only gets a few steps before he turns back. Quirks his mouth up awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck. “Could I… maybe have another…”

Bucky kisses him before he can finish asking. Puts that blissful, dazed look on his husband’s face again. 

“Um, uh…” Steve pats his coat pockets. He adjusts his hat as though it’s askew when it isn’t and tries to flatten his already flat lapels. He laughs at himself. Shakes his head and smiles for Bucky. “You keep doing that to me today.”  
“Do you mind, husband?” He chuckles. “I hope not. I must say, I do find myself enjoying it.”  
“Oh do you, sir?” Steve gives him a radiant smile. All sparkles and sunshine. “I will hardly say I mind it as long as you keep kissing me that way.”  
“Well in that case…”

Another kiss for his husband. Planted. Straight forward, no hiding. Bucky’s pressed his gloved palms against Steve’s cheeks--full of that lazy, rough stubble for the work-less holiday--and pressed harder. Even going so far as to adding a sounded _mwah_ when he pulls away. There’s some eyes on them. Some snickers that sound pleasantly amused, an aw or two mixed in with winter winds, and irritated scoffs and tsk, tsks that have the misfortune of joining happy company. 

Steve blinks at him, mouth falling open in a huge, dopey smile. Tries for words and falls just short.

“Okay, I’m going to get you your coffee,” He manages, “before you put me in a stupor for the rest of the day.”  
“Yes, husband.” Bucky beams up at him. “Thank you.”  
“Yes. I mean, coffee. Um…” Steve rattles his head. Goes to clear the fog and says, “Your coffee. Right.”

He turns to leave then and right before he takes his first step, Bucky takes hold of his wrist to stop him. Turns him back around and pecks his cheek. Steve’s entire face fills with a blush. Cheeks so red they could put the best springtime tomatoes to shame. The whimper that gets caught in his throat makes Bucky choke back a giggle.

“Coffee?” Bucky asks.  
“Yes…” Steve whispers. “Bucky, I lo… I… oh you are making a mess of me…” He laughs and covers his smiles with the back of his hand. “Lots of sugar.”  
“For my coffee.”  
“Coffee. For you. Yes.”

Steve makes a funny noise in the back of his throat. Like he’s trying to clear it and groan at the same time. He makes his escape before Bucky can try any more tricks. Looks like he may have to catch his balance before tripping over his own two feet once or twice as he does. Bucky watches until he’s gobbled up by the crowd, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. 

“Well isn’t _that_ adorable?”

Smile retreats. Forced into an irritated scowl at the sound of that voice. Bucky doesn’t want to turn and doesn’t have to. Source of that voice steps out from behind him and circles in front, blows the smoke from his cigarette not _at_ him, but in his direction.

“Look at the happy couple, showing off for everyone.”  
“What’re you doing here, Brock?”  
“Oh, same as you I suppose, doll.” He blows more smoke at him. “Off to spend Christmastide with my House.” Brock’s dark eyes narrow at him. “Or well, I guess that’s what _I’m_ doing. I suppose _you’re_ going to be spending Christmastide with the House of Rogers.”

Bucky’s chest gets tight. He’s been doing everything he can to deliberately ignore the touch of pain he feels whenever he thinks about his family celebrating Christmastide without him. _The House of Barnes_. No, his family.

 _Steve said they’re still your family_. That spot on his chest reminds him. _It’s okay to think of them that way_.

Tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He coughs and wipes them away before Brock can see what he’s done. First Christmastide without his father, and he can’t even _see_ his mother and Rebecca. Aunt Mildred and Uncle Boris will come, along with cousins William and Fannie. Tradition. One he always looked forward to. Will Rebecca cry this year? Surely she will. As she dresses the tree with the popcorn strings she’ll have to make alone this year. There’ll be no older brother to pester and wear down with her whines and pouts until he finally, and always, gives in to and joins her. Having fun and laughing the whole time anyway. 

The two of them always ended up tossing more popcorn at each other, resulting in more string than popcorn around the tree. The tree will sparkle in the candles nestled in the branches and they’ll sing carols around it after supper. It’ll be Uncle Boris who sits at the head of the table this year. Uncle Boris who has inherited the the Head of the Household of the House Barnes. 

“I hear the House of Rogers Christmastide is a _huge_ family event.” Brock goes on to say. Each word more taunting than the last. “Aunts and uncles and cousins everywhere. Think about it, there’ll be so many people they probably won’t even notice you.”  
Bucky crushes his jaw. “Shut up, Brock.”  
“Well…” He takes one last drag of his cigarette. Flicks it down and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. “You can always think of it as a learning experience. Perhaps you’ll pick up a _secret_ or two?”

Bucky glares up at him. He knows just what Brock’s hinting at. The little chat with Alexander. What he’s after. Information on the House of Rogers. This’ll be the first time Bucky’s going to be with so many of his new House. Only…

 _Only things are different now._ His heart, maybe his brain, maybe both, say.  
 _Yes_. Bucky agrees. _Very different._

“I wouldn’t count on it.” He growls. 

Brock chuckles like Bucky’s amusing him.

“If anything, you can always phone me,” His voice lowers. Picks up that heated, seductive pull to it that Bucky’s no longer willing to fall for. “You know I’ll be willing to come get you. We can always… _slip_ away for some private holiday fun of our own.”  
“Not on your life.”  
“Right, right,” He gets out another chuckle. Belittling as he tilts his head down towards him. “You’re Mr. Domesticated now, aren’t you? A good little spouse for your headship?” Bucky can feel his skin heat up. Temper close to flaring. Brock brushes his hand across Bucky’s shoulder, wiping something away, though Bucky suspects there really wasn’t anything at all. “Happy Christmastide, doll.”

He strolls away then, as easily as he approached. Leaving Bucky to stew in unimaginable anguish and misery. He’s not sure what’s worse. His anger at Brock or the misery over missing Christmastide with his family. Or worse, the unwanted bitterness creeping in. Bitterness towards his husband. Bitterness he wants nothing to do with but it coming in and taking over anyway. Slithering into his bones, boiling the blood in his veins and heating him up so that it’s stifling under his coat. 

“One coffee,” He hears over the pounding pulse in his ears. “Bit of cream, lots of sugar.”

Bucky glances to his side. Sees his husband still lit up with that happy-go-lucky smile that he left with. Coffee in his outstretched hand. Steve’s face falls as Bucky takes the cup, mumbles, “thank you,” and turns again.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice is worried. He takes a step back. “What’s wrong? What happened?”  
“Nothing.”  
Steve moves forward now and places a hand on his shoulder. “Bucky…”  
“No!” Bucky jerks away from his husband. “I’m _fine_!”

Eyes land upon them as Bucky’s yell, which, admittedly grew louder than he intended, echoes harshly back at him. Steve straightens up, shoulders back and neck tight. He glances around at those watching. Closely. To see what’s going to happen next. 

When Steve looks back at him, his eyes are calm, but very serious. He sucks in a deep breath as his hand seeks out the back of Bucky’s neck. His hand closes. It’s not painful, at all. Just strong. An ever physical presence at the moment. 

“Stop.” Steve orders. 

It’s _just_ loud enough for those nearby to hear. And plenty are doing their best to listen. Some are kind enough to pretend they’re not, but they are. Bucky swallows hard. Steve’s never looked at him like that before. He trembles when he nods. There’s no fear present. None at all and he hopes somehow Steve knows that. Knows that he trusts him completely. Steve nods back and then puts his mouth very close to his ear, cutting off anyone else who might have wanted to listen in.

“Don’t do this here, Bucky.” He pleads. Every ounce of him still holds that hard edge, that unyielding authority, but he’s still making a request. “Do _not_ make me reprimand you in public. _Please_.”

He’ll have to. There’ll be no choice in the matter. Not after the show they’ve been putting on. The playing and affection and public displays of both; if Steve lets him get away with that little outburst words will be said. Proof of their doomed marriage. Steve’s inadequate headship. Bucky’s lack of respect for those higher than him. 

“Steve…” Bucky peers up at him. Nods and says softly, “I’m sorry.” He glances around to see people still watching. Repeats himself louder. “I’m sorry.”

The hand on the back of his neck loosens. Fingers begin to caress. Gentle touches. Reminders of that connection.

“That’s alright.” Steve says it loud enough, too. And adds at an even greater volume. “It’s _our_ business anyway.”

The cup of coffee, tucked tightly in his hand, whispers words of comfort. Warmth seeping in through the fabric of his gloves. Bucky tries to smile down at it. Forlorn and unhappy.

“Bucky?” Steve whispers. Pulling them back into a world where it’s only them talking. 

Those around them have taken Steve’s words to heart. He’s, well, _they_ really, are of High Society. Respect is only expected, and no one is trying to listen to them any longer. 

“Steve… I…” He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to ask the question floating around in his mind. It doesn’t feel right, not after he’s already caused problems. “Can I…” But Steve’s assured him, over and over, that it’s okay. “I need to… I can ask you again?”

His husband tries not to react. Bucky’s sure of it. But the muscles in his face flinch and Bucky’s sure that he’s slapped him. Hand right across the cheek. That was the last thing Steve’s expected to hear. That doesn’t stop him from fixing a simple grin on his face. Fake, of course. The grin is for Bucky’s sake.

“Yes. Go ahead. You can…”

Bucky’s throwing his arms around Steve’s waist before he can even finish telling him it’s okay. 

“No, I don’t.” He says into Steve’s lapel. It smell like the fireplace and coffee. Warmth. “I don’t, Steve. Husband. I’m sorry. I don’t need to ask you anything. I already know the answer.”  
“Hey, hey…” Steve’s hugging him into his chest. He removes his own hat to touch his lips to Bucky’s forehead. He doesn’t kiss nor does he ask. “It’s okay.” Placing his hands atop Bucky’s shoulders, he takes just a few steps back. “Bucky, please, don’t… don’t lie to me.” His voice quivers. “I know… you don’t need to tell me what’s happened, but…” Steve’s eyes shut tight for a moment. “If you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to. Just… please don’t lie to me about it.”  
Bucky nods. “Yes, husband. I… I’m so sorry.”  
“I know. It’s okay.”

The question is still on Steve’s face. He won’t ask it, but Bucky needs to be fair to him. Tell him what happened. 

“Brock was here.” He mumbles. “Got me thinking about my first…” He trails off. Throat feels dry. Guilt soaking up any moisture needed to talk normally. “Our first…” He sighs. “It’s my first Holiday without my…” Oh. He doesn’t want to take the chance being overheard. “Without the House of Barnes. Since Lord Barnes’ death.” 

Everything changes. Steve’s entire demeanor shifts like the wind. Did the second Bucky said Brock had been there. His face gets hard and he straightens up again. Eyes begin scanning the platform as though he’s ready to tear through there searching for Brock and rip him apart for upsetting his husband. 

Bucky latches onto the front of Steve’s coat. Both hands grabbing fabric in a desperate cling to keep him close.

“Don’t… please?” Bucky shakes his head. “Husband. Steve, please, stay here. With me? It’s my fault. I let him in my head.” He crushes his jaw. That is it. That’s what’s happened here. Brock’s once again weaseled his way into Bucky’s mind and tinkered away. He sighs. “I don’t know why he can always do that.”  
“He knows what buttons to push.” Steve offers. “It’s not your fault.” He tilts his head and shrugs. “Well, not entirely. Are you okay?”  
“Yes. I am. I promise. I feel better with you here.”  
“You do?”  
“I do, Steve. Really.” He tugs on his ear before stealing a kiss from Steve. Steve blinks a few times like he’s not sure what just happened. Bucky chuckles. Asks, “Have I ruined the day, husband? Is there hope of making it up to you?”  
“You haven’t ruined anything, Bucky.” Steve assures him, tucking that stray hair under his bowler hat. “And you can try…” Shyness creeps into his voice. Pink touches his cheeks as he peers at him through thick lashes, “maybe… another kiss?”

Taking off his right glove, Bucky strokes fingertips along the rough stubble of Steve’s cheek. His husband closes his eyes, lulled into comfort by Bucky’s fingers. While he’s distracted by his touch, Bucky puts his left arm around Steve’s neck and pulls himself in for that kiss. Steve’s arms lock around his waist. If not for the high-pitched whistle wailing at them, Bucky’s not so sure if they’d have managed to pull away in an appropriate, respectable amount of time. 

***

They had their own, private car on the train. Big and cozy, with a couch and two armchairs, a fireplace and soft lights. They were served a light brunch and sat together on the couch. Steve kept trying to make conversation, but Bucky just continuously got lost in watching the scenery go by. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Buildings, high and metal, reaching up to the sky and swirled with steam turning into flat countrysides. Farmlands powdered in snow, glistening in the sunlight. The snow gets thicker and thicker the further they get. Properties more spaced out. Houses far and few in between but huge and beautifully designed. There were horses and cows, even pigs and sheep along the way.

Bucky didn’t even realize he was kneeling up on his knees to get a better view out the window until he happened to glance over at Steve. He was leaned up against the arm of the couch. One of his notebooks in his lap.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Bucky said. “I didn’t mean to…” A herd of cows grabbed his attention before he could finish. He pointed out, finger crashing into the cold glass. “Look! Did you see the…”

He had folded his lips in and slid back to a seated position when Steve held in a chuckle. Buried his face in his knees as he tried not to laugh at himself. 

“I’m such a child.” He mumbled when he glanced back at Steve’s glittering face. “Getting excited over a bunch of cows.”  
“I think it’s cute.” Steve chuckled, reaching over and pinching his cheek. Bucky stuck his tongue out and made him laugh even harder. “It’s the first time you’re awake for this trip.”  
“Wait…” Bucky’s gaze had drifted back to the window, but when Steve said that, the wheels started turning. “Does that mean… are we going back to the farmhouse, husband?”  
Steve grinned at him. “We are. Does that excite you?”

It did. Does. Bucky’s still excited even as Steve opens the front door. There’s so much snow this time. Piles of it cleared away for them in a little crooked path to the house itself. Even with the knowledge that it’s not going to be only them this time, Bucky’s still excited. Brock’s not the only one who’s heard tale of the House Rogers and Christmastide family get togethers. 

“Just us for now,” Steve says he lets Bucky go in first. “That’s why I wanted to come early. We’ll settle in before the family arrives.”  
“And when will that be?”  
Steve checks his wristwatch. “About an hour or so.”

Bucky nods as Steve gives the cabbie instructions on where to bring their bags. The place is just as beautiful as he remembers it. It opens up to him this time. Warm and welcoming. The windows letting in sunlight this day instead of dark nighttime shadows like the first time he entered. 

Nerves begin to show their ugly faces as he stands in the middle of the living room, this time obeying the carpet’s wishes and leaving his shoes by the door. Last time he was here, Bucky was so drunk he could barely stand on his own two feet. A few hours married to a complete stranger. Terrified. Today he’s painfully sober. Close to four months married to, dare he think, a friend. _Best friend, maybe?_

_Don’t let Talia hear you think that._ The spot on his arm she tends to punch whimpers.  
Bucky chuckles and runs his fingers to comfort the spot. _She’d understand._

Terrified again. Only this time he’s afraid for different reasons. His husband no longer scares him. Bucky trusts Steve. Trusts those strong hands would never harm him, trusts the kindness in the sunset blues over the ocean waves of his eyes, trusts what he does with his voice to send Bucky to places he never believed possible. 

Yes, Bucky trusts his husband. That still does little to quell the silent fears that have slowly crept in through countryside travels about meeting the rest of his--of _their_ \--House. The thought is making Bucky lightheaded. So many eyes on him. Watching, judging. Was Steve telling the truth in their interview? Has he been learning? Is he really worth all this fuss? The money they’ve paid? Their good name? 

The hand on Bucky’s shoulder startles him. Enough that he jerks away and then chuckles at himself. Self-deprecating. 

“Sorry.” Bucky murmurs.  
“S’okay. Did I startle you?”  
“Oh. Um.” He snickers a little. Blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “No. I mean, a little.”  
“I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”  
“No, nothing. I’m…”

Steve steps closer and put both hands at the nape of his neck. His fingers press gently, massaging and comforting. 

“Are you nervous, Bucky?”  
The blush that’s just started fading comes back. Even darker this time. “I guess. A little.”  
“I’d tell you not to be, but I can’t.” Steve shakes his head. “Not because there’s _reason_ to be. There isn’t. But I’d… I’d be worse than you. You don’t need to worry. We’ve been over everything important. And even if we haven’t? It wouldn’t matter. They’re going to love you. No reason not to.”

Warmth, hot and pleasant pulses through him. That’s the second time today Steve’s inadvertently used that word. Bucky peers up at him. Wonders if Steve could possibly mean it the way it floats around in his own mind. The way Bucky’s sure he feels about his husband. Love. The emotion that has him teetering between fear and elation whenever he thinks about it. Sometimes Bucky think he might be drowning in love for Steve. Unable to breathe and dizzy and chest hurting and yet feeling more perfect and right than ever. 

He’s right, too. Steve’s gone over the House’s customs with him several times. Greetings, proper table etiquette, the House prayer, the Family hierarchy, subjects of conversation to avoid. This is Christmastide though. A holiday. And he’s never even been with the House before. 

“So, um…” Bucky swallows the words he really wants to say back down. Can’t stand the thought of having Steve reject him. He’s not quite sure he could recover from that. “What… happens?”  
Steve tilts his head. “What?”  
“I mean…” He’s not making sense now. “When everyone gets here? What happens?”  
“Oh!” He laughs and pulls Bucky in to hug him. Seems to want him close at the moment. Bucky doesn’t mind. “We’ll say hello, of course, it’ll be quite the show, I’ve told you that.” Yes, Steve’s warned him of the House greeting. There’s nothing quiet about it. Hugs and kisses on both cheeks from everyone. “We’ll have a big family lunch and then we’ll go out for our tree. And on Christmastide we’ll go carolling in the village. The rest of the time we’ll stay here.”  
“Wow. How quaint.” Bucky giggles. “I’ve never done that.”

Steve undoes their hug and pinches his face a bit. Licks his teeth and sighs out a laugh.

“Are you making fun House Rogers’ tradition, Lord Barnes?”

Bucky laughs. Can tell he’s being teased right now. “No, no. Not at all. I’ve never even spent Christmastide outside of the Isle.” He twists his lips and glances out the windows. “But, uh, just to be sure on something. When you say… go _out_ for a tree… you don’t mean to go and buy one, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Steve, because he’s Steve and almost always understands, picks up easily on Bucky’s meaning. “We’ll be hiking and chopping our own down.” He also must sense the dismay Bucky tries to keep in. “Um… oh…” He runs his hand over Bucky’s head. “It… it does take a while. Out in the cold. You don’t… the cold. You don’t like it.”

Bucky takes a peek out the windows again. There really is a lot of snow out there. So much more than he’s seen in years.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs. “I’ll deal with it.”  
“I don’t…” Steve doesn’t say whatever he was going to there. Instead goes with, “You can stay here, if you’d rather. I won’t make you go, of course.”

Bucky actually lets his eyes roll. Right in front of Steve. Does nothing to hold it back. At first, Steve seems genuinely surprised by this response; at Bucky rolling his eyes at his headship. But Bucky casually moves away from him. Heads down the hall to the room where their suitcases were brought to. It’s the room that Steve occupied the last time.

“Don’t you think that would look completely horrid, husband?” He calls back to Steve as he moves down the hallway. Light and airy. Even hints of arrogance touching his voice. “How would it look for my headship to go off with the rest of the House while I stay back here? All cozy and comfortable?”

There’s an arm around his wrist. Slowing him down and turning him back around. Bucky hadn’t even heard Steve come up behind him. He’s smiling though. Smiling that amused, intense smile of his as he pins him up against the wall.

“You know, my Sweetheart,” He murmurs. Low, hot, suggestive. “You’ve been quite cheeky today.”  
Bucky almost chuckles. A whimper comes out with it. “You don’t seem to mind, husband.”  
“Oh I don’t.” Steve agrees. “I do, however, enjoy your mouth when you’re doing other things with it.”  
“O-oh…” Bucky’s breaths being to stagger. “Really?”  
“Oui,” He breathes, voice deep and husky. “Oui beaucoup.”

His husband’s eyes smolder, nearly on fire with the way he’s staring down at him like that. Steve isn’t quite touching him yet; their bodies just a hairsbreadth away. Bucky’s lip quivers. Heat engulfs his entire body. He’s trembling. Knees shaking with desire, fingers aching to touch, to _feel_. 

“Kiss me. _Please_ kiss me.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. So do Bucky’s. That was _him_. _His_ voice, pathetic and needy, begging for that. Mouth falling open to say something, _anything_ that will make him seem a little more dignified, Bucky never gets the chance. Steve is on him like he’s just as pathetic and needy as he is. Lips sucking onto Bucky’s mouth and tongue invading seconds later. Bucky’s carding fingers through his husband’s hair, pulling him in impossibly closer. He wants to taste so much more of him, _all_ of him. Steve moans into their kiss, wet and getting a little messy in their haste. 

One of Steve’s hands has found its way to Bucky’s back. It’s sliding down the hem of his trousers and yanking the end of his shirt out. A shudder ripples up his spine when he feels Steve’s skin squeezing against his. Bucky’s ripping Steve’s suit jacket off, unfortunately having to put a little bit of distance between them to do so. The second it’s there, Steve uses his other hand to palm the erection desperately trying to break through his pants.

The sudden friction, the sensation that pulses through him from the contact makes Bucky practically convulse and slam back into the wall, tearing away from Steve’s mouth with a whine. 

“Bucky…” Steve whispers, breathy and dotted in sweat. Knows it’s okay to keep going when Bucky’s able to get out a broken, “S-Steve…” hands gripping tightly onto his shirt, and starts sucking kisses along the side of his neck. “Fuck… oh, Bucky, you taste so good…”

Bucky moans. Loud and feral. Grinds hard into the hand pressed up against his crotch and latches arms around Steve again as he continues to pull little red splotches around his collarbone. 

They both freeze at the same time. Both hearing the same thing. The front door. Opening. Two voices. Familiar to both of them, more so to Steve.

“Do you need help with that, Sarah?”  
“No, Joseph, I have it.”

Eyes wide, Bucky catches the same shocked look on his husband’s face he feels inside of him. Married or not, this is not the sort of thing they’d rather be caught doing. Acting fast, Steve opens the door to the room they’re in front of and they dart inside. 

Though Bucky’s ready to burst with want and desire, body aching with such need he’s not sure anyone’s ever felt so hard before, he can’t help having to stifle a laugh. His husband is right up at the door. Ear pressed against it like they’re a couple of kids about to get caught for doing something wrong. That only makes Bucky want to laugh even harder and Steve turns to him with his finger pressed against his lips. When Bucky puts his hand over his mouth, Steve finally catches up to him, must realize that all they’re avoiding is embarrassment. His cheeks turn red and he too starts holding in a laugh. He holds his arm out and Bucky steps close, buries his face in the crook of Steve’s shoulder as they both keep from laughing.

“So…” Lord Rogers says from right out in the hall. “We have the place to ourselves for a little while.”  
“Hmm…” Sarah replies. “That _is_ why we came early, isn’t it, my love?”

Steve gasps before Bucky has the chance to. A horrified, _mortified_ look is all over his face. Face so red the blush touches the tips of his ears. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if his whole body looked like that.

“The staff _did_ put on new sheets.” Lord Rogers comments. “And last Christmastide we made it around to each room before anyone else got here.”

Bucky is trying so hard not to laugh it actually hurts. Everywhere. He’s got both hands over his mouth. Tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes while his husband’s face just pinches in more horror and minor disgust. 

“Do you think you can keep up with me, dear?” 

Mouth falling open, Steve starts shaking his head and must not be able to take it any longer.

“No!” He shouts. “No, no, no!” He yanks the door open and flies out of the room. “Please, I’m _begging_ you, stop.”

Bucky inches out behind him. Hopes he doesn’t seem as amused as he most definitely is. Embarrassed too. For himself; secondhand for everyone else. 

“Steven!” Sarah exclaims. “You’re… what’re you doing here?”  
“I came early so I could get my new husband settled before the rest of the House comes!”  
“Oh…” She folds her lips in and nods as though his answer is perfectly acceptable then looks behind him at Bucky. He lifts his fingers to wave. “Oh dear. Hello, Bucky, sweetie. How… how much of that…”  
“None!” Steve bursts. “Or all! Or whatever’s the leasts amount of embarrassing and we never have to talk about it again!”  
“Well, son, your mother and I have a very healthy…”  
“No!” He’s voice squeaks and Bucky thinks he might double over if this keeps up. “Dad! Please!” Steve swirls around towards Bucky. He doesn’t really seem to _know_ what to do. Eyes are so large and frantic, cheeks still red, and he looks as though he either wants to laugh or cry. “And _you_.” He says. “I’m so glad _you’re_ such a help, my Sweetheart.”

There’s no containing it any longer. The laugh that tears through Bucky hits him so hard and strong he really _does_ double over. Would have hit the floor if his husband didn’t catch him first. 

It’s Sarah who starts laughing just as hard as Bucky. Lord Rogers and Steve do join in, but neither of them seem to laugh as hard as the other two. 

“I-I’m s-sorry…” Bucky gasps between fits. Trying hard to catch his breath and failing when every laugh just collides with the next. “S-Steve… I… t-that was…”  
“Yeah, yeah…” He chuckles. Smothers his face in his hair. “I’m so glad my little family awkwardness is so entertaining.”

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. Laughs even more. Everything inside of him’s still stirring. Buzzing so hard, bringing every inch of him to life he’s not sure where laughter ends and where arousal begins. He’s never heard of anyone bursting from desire. 

Then again, there is a first time for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everyone! I'm so sorry it's so late in the day for this chapter. Today was crazy hectic and I wasn't feeling the greatest and still getting over a migraine from earlier in the week. 
> 
> So I was going to post two chapters, but I really saw it better fit to leave the next chapter paired with next week's update and after last week's chapter I thought maybe a ton of fluff would be nice. And, well, I do believe it'll be worth it. Cause the, uh, sexual tension in this one? Yeah how bout we double? Triple? Maybe even have an explosion of it. Eh? 
> 
> Okay, soooo, that's it for this week, but here're some giffys for this weeks chapter:
> 
> We'll start with an awesome edit by [fujoshizzle](http://fujoshizzle.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The picture that inspired the one Steve gives to Bucky
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> Bucky trying to ignore Steve and keep sleeping
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> When Bucky's being a tease and finally puts Steve in a little stupor before they leave 
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> Enjoying Steve's company at the train station 
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> And now we move onto Steve waking Bucky up for the second time
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> First arriving at the station and getting cheered. 
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> All smiles as he heads off to get his husband coffee
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> On the train sketching ((while Bucky's too excited watching the scenery to go by to really pay attention to what he's doing))
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> And lastly... from [stevebuckypornlookalikes](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/)
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> Our two guys getting a little frisky before being interrupted 
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> 
> Alrightly so that's it for this week. I do hope you enjoyed the fluff after the feels of last week. As always feel free to leave comments or come find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) Again, I'm sorry it took so long to post this today. I hope it was worth the wait though!


	20. Have Some Bathtub Fun Giggity

Snow falls lightly from the thick, white clouds. Soft flakes that glide silently from the sky and rest gently upon the already fluffy snow-covered ground. Light breezes blow diamond sparkling dustings from spot to spot as they hike across long the bottom of the mountain. Steve’s used to this trail. They’ve taken it every year since he was young. Even when he was little and breathless and sometimes needed to be carried. When he insisted and begged and pleaded to be allowed to come along even though winter’s chills could kill him and he was wrapped up in more than one jacket and scarves and two hats and blankets. 

This year is different. With Sarah ill. She’s the one wrapped up now. Scarf around her throat, one over her face as well, and a wool hat. Two pairs of long-johns under her bustle skirt instead of one like Steve’s aunts and few cousins. The trail whispers cold, happy welcomes as their feet crunch through the snow. They’ve been out for a little over two hours, leaving after a late lunch of traditional skirt and kidneys Aunt Carol made. 

Poor Bucky. Right after he was pulled in for so many hugs and kisses--Steve really, _really_ tried to prepare him for that, for each individual personality that would be around, but he was still overwhelmed by the sheer volume and amount of people that suddenly showed up--and shouts and exclamations of how happy everyone was that he was part of the House of Rogers--he was forced to sit down and try to eat the lunch with everyone else. A basic white stew, made with pork skirts, pork kidneys, onions and potatoes, not even Steve really likes it. It’s a harsh meal, one that he didn’t think to warn his husband about. He’s so used it that he’s able to suck it down fairly quickly. But Bucky was doing his best not to grimace with each bite, surviving mostly by shoving a piece of bread in his mouth with each one. 

“Bucky, would you like another bowl?” Uncle Timothy offered when he noticed Bucky’s empty setting and his silverware accidentally set at seconds position instead of finished.  
Bucky glanced frantically at his bowl. “Oh… I…”  
“No, Uncle Tim,” Steve answered for him. “Bucky doesn’t like it.”

Everyone stopped eating, everyone stopped chatting, and Bucky looked like he was ready to either pass out, run away or maybe kill him. Steve’s pretty sure he would have rathered the last option in the moment.

“No, no, it’s… I…” He shook his head back and forth like he didn’t know what to do. “I… it’s fine. I’ll have…”  
“He doesn’t want another.” Sarah said with a laugh. “Bucky, would you like me to smack your husband for you?”

The relief that flooded Bucky’s face was immediate. He looked at her like she was an angel sent from the brightest of heavens.

“Yes, ma’am. If you wouldn’t mind.”

She did too. Reached right out and slapped him right off the back of the head. Hard enough that it knocked him forward a bit. It made his little cousins, Shawn, Eileen, and Mary start giggling like crazy. 

“I’m sorry!” Steve laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I don’t like it either!”  
Aunt Kayleigh rolled her eyes and chuckled. “You’ve never liked the House meals. But the _least_ you can do his let your husband answer for himself. _Spare_ him the embarrassment. Bucky, would you like Sarah to hit your husband again?”  
Bucky grinned down at his empty bowl and nodded. “Please?”  
“Oh no come on!”

But they all listened to Bucky and Steve got himself another slap and his cousins laughed harder.

“It’s okay, Lord Barnes,” Gertrude, a cousin a few years younger than Steve, said. “We don’t like it either,” She waved between Steve, John, Adam, and Cassandra--more cousins, all between thirteen and Steve’s age. “We just pretend.”  
“Oh, you don’t need to… um,” Bucky cleared his throat. “Bucky is fine. You don’t need to call me Lord Barnes.” He sighed as though he’d said the wrong thing in response to Gerty’s statement. “Um, but… thank you?”  
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Aunt Kathleen chuckled. “No one is insulted. And we’ll make your husband pay the whole time you’re here. Sarah, hit him again.”  
“No! Mom!”

She had, of course. Same spot, just as hard. He hadn’t meant to embarrass Bucky. Not at all. He just didn’t want his poor husband stuck trying to pretend he enjoyed it when he didn’t. 

They’ve hiked about forty-five minutes along the bottom of the mountain to an open meadow lined with their choice of gorgeous trees. Tall, thick evergreens with powerful scents and meaningful sight. Everyone has their preferences. Not too big, not too small. Branches too thin or too thick. Too many needles or needles that fall off. That one has chipmunks living in it. It’s always a process. Fun and filled with laughter. Crisp, fresh air carrying their happy voices and high stone walls answering back in pleasant tones. One Steve has always loved.

His husband’s been giving him the silent treatment. Playfully, but still giving him the silent treatment. He’s been chatting with Sarah, shyly steering clear of everyone else, and every now and then Steve’ll get another whack on the head again. Out of nowhere, usually. But it makes Bucky smile and it makes his mom smile and that’s just fine with him. It might be Bucky’s first time out, but this is also Sarah’s last. The thought’s been haunting him all day. Ever since his morning run with Sam. It sneaks in unexpectedly. Whispers the cold, hard truth along the edges of his soul and leaves an ache in his heart; tears in his eyes. Steve’s had to brush them away several times.

Right now though, his husband is sort of standing off to the side, arms pulled around his body, slowly losing his animation. Cold getting to him, Steve’s sure. His nose is bright red, cheeks pale and eyes glossy. Bucky’s got his face pinched tight, like he’s fighting back shivers. It makes Steve smile.

Steve approaches from behind, his boots crunching softly through the fresh snow. Places his hands lightly on his husband’s shoulders.

“How’re you holding up?”  
Bucky shakes his head and folds his arms over his chest. “I’m still not speaking to you, husband.”  
“Aw,” Steve whines. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He whimpers slightly. “Please, please, _please_ forgive me?”  
He chuckles and rewraps his arms around himself. “If you keep me warm. Maybe.”  
“Deal.”

Steve pulls him in close, rubs his hands up and down his arms to provide that warmth eluding his husband. 

“This is…” A shiver passes through him hard enough that Steve can feel it run through his limbs. “This is…” His teeth chatter, “crazy. How are you p-p-people human?”  
Steve chuckles. “We won’t be too much longer. We’re not going up the mountain this year.”  
“You usually g-go u-p-p it?”  
“We do. But… Mom’s not…” He catches his breath. Doesn’t let it get the better of him. “She’s not up to it this year.”

They both glance over to where his parents are. Mom is laughing as she points to a tree she likes. It’s too big for them, but it’s full and green and covered in snow. 

“Steve,” Bucky stays in his arms but turns to face him. “Would you really have let me stay behind?”  
“If you didn’t think you’d be able to handle it?” Steve pulls the ends of Bucky’s lapels together so that he might be shielded a bit more from the gentle winds. “Of course.”

Bucky glances once more at Sarah. They’ve all moved towards another tree and by the way they’re all herded around it, Steve’s pretty sure that might actually be the one they pick. There’s a soft smile on Bucky’s face while he watches, lips shaped up in a pleasant curve as though he’s reliving fond memories along with Steve. When he turns back to him, the smile melts into a scowl. Eyes narrow. Darkness creeping along the edges of icy waves. 

“W-what?” Steve asks. 

Bucky looks positively livid. Hot enough to melt the snow around them into puddles of tepid water.

“So I guess you _don’t_ need me.”

Steve’s stomach falls to his feet. A horrible shiver crawls through him. He has no idea why Bucky’s drawn such a conclusion, but the expression he’s giving him right now his enough to make him fall to his knees and beg for mercy.

“I… I don’t understand… why do you say that?”  
“You told me that you needed me and that you would let me in when you did most, right?”  
“Well…” He’s still not sure where his husband is going with this. “Yes?”  
“Okay, so you’d have gone off with everyone on what might very well be your mother last time doing this without me?”

Steve pulls away from him. Closes off immediately at the mention of his mother’s last anything. He’d storm off if Bucky didn’t grab him by the wrist and keep him right there. Tight grip of metal around his flesh. 

“No. Don’t do that again. Please.” Bucky implores. His voice is soft. Has been this whole time. “I’m sorry. I just… needed to get your attention.” 

He bends down a bit so that he can catch a glimpse of him. Steve’s jaw is hard and he’s glaring down at the ground, but Bucky manages to sneak into his sightline. 

“Okay.” Steve mumbles. “You have it.”  
Bucky nods and cups his face to gently lift it back up. “Steve, did you _want_ me to come with you today?”

Steve can feel his anger dissolving under Bucky’s gingerly touch. The softness of his face and concern in his eyes. His husband is cross with him and he’s still so sweet. Steve’s voice cracks a bit before he can answer.

“Yes.” He whimpers.  
“Why?”  
“I…” Oh boy. Steve didn’t want to think about this. Didn’t want to admit it, but he’s not about to deny his husband. His Sweetheart. It’s not fair. So he whispers,“I didn’t want to be alone.”

Even surrounded by all his family, loved ones he’s had his entire life, without Bucky with him today, that’s how he’d have felt. Alone. A piece of him missing. 

“But you were still going to let me stay behind, weren’t you?”  
Steve feels like he’s shrinking under Bucky’s scrutiny. “Yes.”  
“Because you were too busy thinking more about me than yourself.” Bucky presses a kiss into Steve’s lips. “Which I lo… which I appreciate so much, husband, but I need you to think about yourself to. You promised.”  
“But… you wouldn’t even talk to me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes again. Second time today. Second time teasing. He sighs and pets the side of Steve’s face once.

“I was playing with you and you know it. And you were having fun, right?”  
“Yes.” Steve admits, heart flutters at the knowledge that Bucky’s no longer so afraid of playing with him, of offending him as headship, but rather enjoying his company as his husband.  
“With me?”  
“Yes.”  
“Okay then. What purpose would it have served to have me staying behind just so I didn’t have to be a little cold and you’d have been here all alone?”  
“But…”  
“None. None at all. So _stop_ doing that. I _want_ you to think about yourself, Steve. _You_ need to. Understand?”  
He nods. Sheepish and meek and feels about two inches tall. “Yes, Bucky. I’m sorry.”  
“Good. And it’s okay. Now will you hold me again? Because it’s really, really cold.”

His voice gets high and whiny at that last bit and Steve laughs instead of cries like he might have. How could he have gotten so lucky? It’s all he can think of as he envelopes his husband in his arms, holds him so close to his chest he’s sure his heart is going to spill his secret. _I love you_. It beats for him. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

“Thank you, Bucky,” He settles on, cheek resting upon his shoulder.   
“You’re welcome, Stevie.”  
“Mmm.” Steve hums. “I… I like it when you call me that.”  
He can feel Bucky smile. “Okay, Stevie.”  
“Hey, lovebirds, over here!”

They look to Sarah at the same time. She’s holding up a personal camera and Steve immediately puts his arm around Bucky. Wants a keepsake of this moment. Wants to be able to keep and cherish it forever. Bucky leans his head into his shoulder and Steve finds himself grinning even wider as his mother snaps the photograph. Behind her, Joseph, Uncle Patrick and cousin Arthur are loading a tree onto the sled they’ve all taken turns dragging across the snow, tossing thick ropes over it so they can tie it down.

“They… got one?” Bucky asks.  
“It would appear so.” Steve hardly noticed himself. “You were too busy scolding me for either of us to realize.”  
“Hm. You deserved it.”  
Steve pouts at him. “Yes. You’re right. I did. M’sorry, Bucky. Are you still mad at me?”  
“For which thing? Cause you’re on a roll today, husband.”  
He whines a little, smothering his face between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. “All of it?”  
“I’m still going to let your mother slap you.” He says, teeth starting to hit together again. Little audible click, click, clicks that get faster and faster. “But no. I’m not mad. Are w-we head-ded back n-now?”  
Steve chuckles. “Yes.”  
“Oh thank goodness. I’m so cold I can’t even feel my left arm.”

Steve picks his head up. Stares at Bucky as his husband does his best to maintain a straight face until he peeks out of the corner of his eye to see the perplexed look Steve’s giving him and bursts out laughing.

“Aren’t I a hoot?” he says, added slap to his knee. 

Steve chuckles. Awkward, unsure and really does think it’s funny, but isn’t sure what to do until Bucky’s sparkling eyes land on him fully and he laughs even harder.

“It’s okay, husband. You can laugh.”

He almost says it again as he laughs along. _I love you_. Because he does. With every ounce of his heart.

***

They’ll trim the tree after supper. Nestle the presents underneath then shut the doors to the parlor up tight so that the children might not venture inside to take a peek like Steve and his cousins tried to do when they were little. The tree will be unveiled tomorrow afternoon, Christmastide’s Eve. There’ll be music and ghost stories and tales of the pasts never forgotten and cakes and pastries and treats. Little performances the children will do and singing and dancing. The grand unwrapping of gifts at the twelfth stroke of midnight. 

Soft shadows stretch across the snow outside, soaked in rich, golden colors as the sun dips below the earth. Steve is unbuttoning his shirt. Changing into a heavier sweater. The water in the bathroom joined to the bedroom is running. Bucky’s going to be taking a hot bath to warm up. Deserves it to. He was shivering so hard when they got in a few minutes ago that Steve was frightened for him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked when they first got into the bedroom. “Do you need anything? A blanket? Coffee?”  
“N-no.” Bucky answered. “J-just. G-got t-to… w-warm. I-I… D-Dad… it’s c-cold…” He blinked and said, “Reb-becca’s… she…”

Bucky looked like a ghost. Scared. Lost somewhere Steve had never been told about. Steve took his face in his hands and pressed himself close to him. He wasn’t sure what happened. Wasn’t sure what to do, but needed to do something.

“Hey, hey, Bucky, look at me.”  
He did. Looked up and came back. “Steve?”  
“Yeah. You with me now?”  
“Shit. I-I’m s-sorry.”  
“That’s alright.” His heart was pounding, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. “What happened?”

Bucky just shook his head. A few tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and Steve understood. Frostbite. That’s what he had told him the one time he mentioned what happened to his arm. No wonder he was so adverse to the cold. 

“You’re okay now, baby?” Steve asked. “You’re…”  
“I’m okay.” Bucky assured. “I just need to get warm. Dr. Strange said that would happen sometimes. I’m… I’m sorry.”  
“What would happen?”  
“Oh… that… the cold would… that I would remember too much? That it would sometimes feel like…”  
“Like that day again?”

Bucky nodded and Steve hugged him close. 

“You really could have stayed, Buck. It wouldn’t…”  
“Mm-mm.” He interrupted. Wrapped arms tightly around him. “Wanted to be with you.”

Steve smiles through a sigh as he let’s his shirt fall from his body. Maybe after the New Year he can take a trip with his husband. Somewhere warm. A beach, perhaps. A place where he can stick his toes in the sand and they can swim in salty oceans bathed in sunlight all day long. Bucky’ll like that. 

He doesn’t hear his husband behind him, which isn’t unusual since Bucky tends to slip into a room like the a warm summer’s breeze. No, he doesn’t hear him, but Steve knows he’s there when there’s something so cold presses against his bare back he nearly shrieks and jerks away.

“Oh!” He yelps.

Steve spins around. Sees Bucky biting down on his tongue as he snickers. That was his left hand on his back. 

“M’sorry.” He laughs. “Too tempting.”  
Steve shivers and chuckles. “Bucky... I thought… you were taking a bath?”   
“I’m about to.” He looks nervous now. Fiddles with his fingers. Looks for confidences there instead of focusing on Steve. “Um, I was just… wondering if maybe… you wanted to… um… keep me… company?”  
“Company?” Steve tilts his head. “In there?”

Bucky clears his throat and shakes his head. He starts to back away, still staring at his fingers though they’ve seem to have taken back whatever courage they provided.

“Never, uh, never mind.” He murmurs. “It was just an idea. I just…”  
“No wait!” Steve stops him. “I didn’t say… you really want me to? I’d…”

All he can picture, imagine, feel, is Bucky pressed up against the wall like earlier. Their mouths together, Steve tasting his skin. His body on fire with Bucky pulsing hard under his hand.

“Steve?”

His mouth has gone dry. Moisture replaced by the sands of heady desires building for months. Steve tries to clear his throat. Manages a little.

“Are you… sure?”  
“Well, we don’t have to… I just thought it’d be nice to warm up together?”  
“O-okay. I’ll… be in in just a second?”

Bucky smiles. Shy, but excited. Stars in his eyes when he glances up for but a moment and then hurries back into the bathroom. Steve hears the water shut off. A few moments later he can hear Bucky get into the tub. 

There’s a robe on the back of the door. Steve decides to throw that on after he sheds all his clothes. He’s red with embarrassment. Steve’s never really been comfortable being on display for anyone. Not that he’ll truly be on display for Bucky right now, but he’s still nervous as he lets himself into the bathroom. 

Bucky’s staring down at the water, fingers gliding across the top of it. Nervous, too. There’re bubbles floating on the surface and a thin layer of steam rising as well. Nice and hot the way Bucky likes it. Gulping in a deep breath, Steve drops the robe and slips in with his husband. He’s facing him at first, but Bucky glances up and shakes his head. Holds a hand out.

“C’mere, husband.” He coaxes. “Please?”

Steve takes his hand. Let’s Bucky guide him over to his side where he leans back against Bucky’s chest. His husband swirls the water around them as Steve rests his head on his shoulder, lazy and comforting. Eyes drifting closed in contentment, Steve hums a soft sigh when Bucky’s fingers run along his arm. He might even fall asleep.

Bucky whispers, “I had fun today, Steve.”  
Steve smiles. “I’m glad.”  
“And thank you for joining me in here. It helps.”  
He cocks his head back to look at him. “Helps?”  
“Warming up.” He settles down a bit more. Gets more comfortable. “The body heat.”  
“I’m so happy to be of service.” Steve chuckles.

Bucky laughs a little and pokes him in the side. He makes a sound, like he’s about to say something else, but Steve jerking away from the poke must stop him. Stifles the thought and words and puts an idea in his head. Steve can see it. Has seen that wicked twinkle in Sam’s eyes and Tony’s and Peggy’s.

“No…” He shakes his head quickly. “Bucky… please…”  
“Oh, dear husband, are you ticklish?”  
“Uh-ah.” If the quiver in his voice wasn’t a dead give away, the way he’s shying from Bucky now has to be. “No, I… it’s…”

Bucky sniggers. Ice filled eyes glistening with sunlit pleasure and downright mischief. 

“Aw, Stevie, this _is_ a _magical_ place.”  
“Buck--”

He gets no chance to plead any further. Bucky’s fingers dig into his side and Steve loses his words to laughter. Squirms and wiggles and tries to get away but there’s no traction under his feet and he just keeps sliding back into Bucky’s tickling.

“Bucky!” He laughs. “No! Please! No!”

His husband is snickering right in his ear. Pleasantly cruel and twisted, a dastardly villain twirling his crooked mustache like those in the Nickelodeons Steve saw as a child. He eases up though, leaves his fingers right at his ribcage in fair warning.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky purrs. “I tell you what, husband. I’ll stop, if you promise you’ll wrap me in a big blanket by the fire and give me a cup of cocoa with seventeen mini-marshmallows in it.”  
“Is that how it’s going to be here, my Sweetheart?” Steve replies. “Are you headship now?”  
“Hm…” 

The only other response he gets to that his another dig into his side. Bucky’s fingers twisting and turning just the right way into his muscles to make him squeal and wiggle again.

“Okay!” He gives in. “I promise, I promise! Seventeen marshmallows. You have my word.”

Bucky’s kissing the side of his neck when he laughs again. Moves his hand away from that threatening area and just wraps him in a hug. Steve claps his own hands over Bucky’s to secure them there. He snuggle back again.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Bucky asks.  
“Mhm.” Steve’s already getting lazy again. Head back, eyes closed. At ease in Bucky’s arms. “What’s that?”  
“I… sorta… don’t mind you being… headship.” He whispers. “I think… maybe… it’s good this way.”

They might be in a tub full of nice, warm water, two bodies pressed together, but nothing can stop even _more_ heat from pooling in Steve’s belly at that. His heart skips a beat as it examines Bucky’s statement.

“You… you do?”  
“I… yes, Steve. I wouldn’t… um…” He stirs the water again with his newly freed hand, leaving one resting on Steve’s chest, tracing nonsensical patterns into his skin. Small trails of water follow under his fingertip. “...I wouldn’t change this, husband.”  
“Bucky…” Steve whispers. Doesn’t know how to answer that sentiment without professing his love and eternal gratitude. “I… can I tell _you_ a secret?”  
“Yes?”  
“I would have promised to wrap you in a blanket and give you cocoa no matter what.”

When Bucky chuckles this time it’s accompanied by a gasp and a sniffle. Steve turns his head to see if he’s crying. Which he might be. Instead of getting the chance to confirm this, Bucky leans in to kiss him. His lips aren’t on Steve’s for long. He pulls away like a shock’s run through him. 

“Are you…” Steve rattles his head. “Okay?”   
“Uh… yes.” Bucky shifts a bit under him. Fixes his position as though comfort’s abandoned him. “I’m… just…”

A blush fills his face and he can hardly keep Steve’s gaze. Steve goes to move, turn so that he can face Bucky better when he _feels_ the problem at hand. Feels Bucky pressed up against his side and fights back a smile.

“Oh, I see the issue, Lord Barnes.” Steve drawls and pulls another blush from Bucky. “Can I kiss you then?”  
“Oh…” He whimpers. “Please?”

Steve wastes no time and lunges in. Gets arms wrapped around his neck and a tongue in his mouth. He sucks on Bucky’s tongue, twirls his own along it before pulling away and pecking wet kisses down his husband’s neck. Bucky moans and thrusts his hips up, sliding down a bit in the process. Able to keep him upright before he sinks too far, Steve slides his hand down Bucky’s wet side, gradually making his way across his leg. He shivers under him, mouth fumbling a bit as though his lips desperately need something to do. 

Helping him out, Steve sucks him back into another kiss. Groans into it. Bucky still tastes wonderful. Sweet and clean and fresh and Steve can’t get enough of him. Heat seeps into his bones, burns deep into the marrow and when he moves to shift them both, rough and fast with so much need, at least two gallons of water leaps out over the sides of the tub. 

Hand just inches away from touching his husband for the first time, Steve gasps and checks over the edge, only to have Bucky latch onto him. His hands taking the sides of his face in a most helpless attempt to keep him there.

“Don’t stop… Steve…” He whines. A quiet whimper, breathy and shaky. Eyes pleading and mouth seeking. “Please…”

His right hand slides away from his face and Bucky trails it down his body, fingers pressing hard enough into his chest that it’s _almost_ a scratch. Four pink lines blossom along his skin where Bucky’s hand disappears under the water. Steve’s elbow shakes as he fights to keep balance, Bucky’s touch intoxicating is so invigorating all his muscles are curled tight around his bones and all he’s done is run four fingers along his chest. He can barely breathe with Bucky staring up at him like that. Eyes peering through silky strands of dark hair, ice blacked over with deep, nightly desires; breaths colliding with each other as they pass over quivering lips wet with dripping water. Steve can’t take it. 

The fire is so strong, running through veins, replacing blood with flames, and he yanks the hand holding them both in place away to wrap it around his husband, letting them both dip below the water, lips locked and legs tangling. Still submerged in a world obscured of sight and sound, a physical world that can only last for seconds, Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s cock and in that moment Steve’s body is overloaded with so many sensations. The blackness behind his eyes, the water around his ears, the heat throughout his body, the feel of Bucky along his cock--he releases the air in his lungs through his nose and pulls them back up.

They both gasp for breath and shake the water from their hair, Bucky sucking the moisture from the skin along Steve’s neck the very second he does. His hand is still moving across Steve and Steve moans, dropping his head down on his husband’s shoulder, grinding his hip into Bucky’s crotch. Bucky shudders under him, body tightening and arm around his waist pulling him in closer. 

“Steve…” He groans. “Mmm…”

Steve interrupts his moaning with a kiss and thrusts forward again. That sends such a jolt through Bucky’s body that he yelps and tosses his head back, even takes his hand away and locks both arms around Steve’s torso. Bucky whimpers, lifting his hips and trying to get Steve’s attention again. Giving him what he wants, Steve grinds up against him, letting their cocks rub together for a moment until he takes hold of his husband’s. 

He watches Bucky’s jaw fall open to let a strained noise rise out of his throat. Steve strokes once, twice…

And when there’s a knock at the door they both jolt upright and scare almost half the water out of the tub. Bucky’s staring at Steve; Steve’s staring at the door. 

“Steven?”   
“Ye…” His voice cracks. He needs to clear it before continuing. “Yes? Mom?”  
“Supper is almost ready. Are you… almost…”  
“We’ll be right out.”  
“Okay. I’m… sorry… hon.”

He watches the door a little longer before tearing his gaze away and peering back down at his husband. Whose breathing has steadied and looks pathetically disappointed. His lips are pushed out and eyebrows pulled in, face strained and he drops his head back before sliding down the edge and ending up back under what’s left of the water. 

Steve chuckles and lifts him back up. Wants to kiss him again but now that the moment’s ruined, another moment of heat and passion cracked and torn apart by interruptions and intrusions beyond their control, he’s not sure if he should. Bucky wipes the water and bubbles from his face. Snickers and sniffs, unintentionally sucking up a bit of moisture on his inhale. He coughs and spits, tries to snort it back out. Makes Steve laugh when he whines and attempts to save face by hiding it behind both hands.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. Tucks Bucky’s wet hair behind his ears. “Look at me.” His husband lowers those hands only enough that his eyes peek out above the very tips of his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky pulls his hands away. Confusion dampening his face even more than the water. 

“Whatever for?”  
“That this… keeps happening?”  
He chuckles. “Well that’s hardly your fault, husband. Though I must admit, I can’t decide if I’m more amused or disappointed. You do make it difficult to think when you touch me sometimes.”

He blushes the very second that last part comes out. Folds his lips in and scrunches his face as though his mouth has once again betrayed him. Said thoughts he’s not meant to vocalize. 

Unable to resist, Steve pets the side of his face. “Like that?”

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed. The little whimper that escapes his lips is becoming familiar. Something Steve’s getting used to hearing whenever he does something like this.

“Yes…” He breathes. “Steve… husband… you…”  
“Should stop? If we’re getting out for supper?”  
“Mhm.”  
“Okay. May I kiss you again first, Bucky?”  
“Ah… yes… no…” He rattles his head. Eyes open to reveal huge pupils and hidden desires. “I mean… not if you…”

He trails off into a soft whine. Lost between his want to be kissed and knowing that he probably shouldn’t be. Not when they both need to be getting out and joining the world outside of the bathtub. 

“Two for later then?” Steve requests. “Maybe? When we have more privacy?”

Bucky lights up with a dreamy smile. Mind taking him to the place Steve’s speaking of already. 

“Yes. Promise.” He nods. Opens his eyes and repeats in Russian. “Oбещание.”

Steve grins. Nuzzles their noses and then climbs out of the tub. Reluctant to leave their tiny little space behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy omg-Sebastian-Stan-did-his-own-sex-scene-I-can't-get-a-grip-Friday! 
> 
> Welcome back! Hope everyone had a fabulous week! And if not I sure hope that this news about _The Bronze_ has made it better :D 
> 
> Okay, okay, enough of that ((really? never. It'll always be there in the back of _my_ mind at least)). So I hope you enjoyed the first half of this week's updates. After some fun gifs there's another chapter waiting. :)
> 
> Right, so here's Bucky all nervous while eating with the House of Rogers
> 
> After Sarah offers to slap Steve for him and the House makes him feel a little more comfortable
> 
> Giving Steve a little scolding when they're out
> 
> Now we have Steve listening to Bucky's scolding
> 
> Steve after Bucky's asked him to join him in the bath 
> 
> And lastly, a bit of Steve smolder. How Steve looks at Bucky when they're in the bathtub together ((and pretty much whenever he's about to kiss him))
> 
> Kay, kay, so there you have it. Second chapters waiting if you'd like!


	21. I'm Running Late to Meet With Friends to Post This! I Really Hope It's Good!

Supper’s been eaten--Sheppard’s Pie; much easier to stomach than the stew served for lunch--they’ve trimmed the tree. Sweet scents of baking goodies waft through the entire farmhouse. Cookies and cupcakes rising promptly in the oven. Over at the fireplace, they’re roasting chestnuts. 

The House of Rogers is a noisy bunch. Happily noisy. Conversations go on in every direction, even between people across an entire room. Laughter and playful bickering. The children are not expected to sit and play quietly in another room. Instead, they’re allowed to run about and have fun so long as they’re not too rowdy. And when they are, a few words are said and they calm down again. 

Bucky feels quickly gobbled up by the entire House. There are so many people, so boisterous and full of life, filling rooms with all their voices. It’s not so much that he minds, this is just so different than what it was like just a year ago. The House of Barnes is by no means a stuffy bunch. They’re just smaller, quieter. And they are, admittedly, more traditional. 

Bucky and Rebecca, along with their few cousins, would never be allowed to run around like these children. Unless music was playing, and they were specifically invited to sing and dance for the adults, they were expected to entertain themselves quietly. As an adult, Bucky had been allowed to join them at the table after supper. Sipping Brandies and enjoying light conversation and smokes. 

Here, with so much going on, all the clamor and chatter, the happy-go-lucky atmosphere that lingers in the walls and floor, Bucky is easily lost among all the excitement. He sits quietly on one of the sofas. Awkwardly shifting his weight around the cushions, out of nerves and other reasons, and simply stays quiet. Tries to pay attention to several discussions going on at once. Can’t decide if the aunt, Virginia, no, um, that one’s Rosaline, talking about her trip to the Isle of Eire is more interesting than the uncle, John, and cousin, Ann, debating the proper way to play a game of poker. 

Knots pull in his stomach and he fiddles with clanky fingers. Heavy toes tap out of rhythm on the floor. His husband is no where to be found and Bucky’s too nervous to go look for him. Doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself by getting up out of his seat. Steve had been sitting with him earlier, arm around his shoulders, losing himself easily in the laughter around him, but he excused himself about thirty minutes ago and hasn’t been back since. The House has been more than accommodating, friendly, pulling Bucky into conversations whenever anyone notices that he’s been sitting there quietly. It doesn’t help that his body hasn’t fully recovered from their little stunt in the bathroom. His muscles still burning with unfulfilled longing. 

_Why are you putting me through this?_ His dick keeps whining.  
 _I’m sorry. It’s not my fault._

It’s not even fully flacid either. Maintaining just enough blood that he continues to have to reposition himself to stay comfortable. It gets a little worse any time he thinks of that promise he made to Steve. Of two kisses--for one that he didn’t give earlier and one just because. He’s been kissing Steve all day. They’ve never shared so many kisses. Perhaps there’s something in the air today, or maybe coming back here. To this picturesque farmhouse, extravagant and grand, hidden away from the pressures and expectations of Society that have him behaving like a smitten schoolboy. A boy with a crush. Longing to feel his husband’s lips touch every inch of him.

His cock stirs again beneath his trousers. His skin flushes. He can only hope that he’s still not being paid any mind. 

_Oh please, **please** behave._ Bucky begs. _Please_.  
 _Whose fault is it?_ His brain taunts. _You’re the one thinking of Steve’s tongue. Licking. All over. His mouth. Sucking…_  
 _Stop it!_ Bucky shifts again. _Please!_

These desires, while nesting and growing for some time, have hit him hard and strong. A bomb that’s gone off inside of him, exploding and filling him with painful desires. Boom. 

In all honesty, he’s not entirely sure if he’d be _able_ to consummate anything tonight. Bucky’s tired. Long, long day. Body worn out from going through the woods and getting so cold. Mind none too pleased with him for letting it almost flashback to _that_ day; caked in ice, surrounded by frozen winds and trapped to endless winters.

Exhaustion burrows down deep into his bones, yet Bucky would do anything for a chance to feel every inch of his husband tonight. To have Steve feel every inch of him.

“Lord Barnes, I mean, Bucky?”

He glances up. Startled by the sound of his own name coming from such a sweet, little voice. Bernadette, the youngest of the House of Rogers, at eight years, is standing in front of him holding a bowl out. She’s wearing a big, wide smile, eyes shining but sweetly bashful. 

“Yes?”  
“Would you like a chestnut?”  
“Oh.” He smiles at her. Plucks one out and turns it between both his hands. It clinks quietly against his left fingers. “Thank you.”  
“You’re very welcome.”

She rushes off, giggling to the next set of people she serves the bowl to that she got to give some to Society’s Sweetheart. One of them, the little girl’s father, he thinks, grins appreciatively. Bucky smiles at his lap, cheeks warming. He starts a bit when there’s a blanket being draped over his shoulders. 

“You’re even the most popular one here.” Steve chuckles as he fixes the ends of the blanket with one hand so that it sits around him. The other hand’s holding a saucer and teacup. “I think they like you better than me.” He smiles and hands him the saucer. “Here.”  
Bucky looks at it without taking it. “What’s this?”  
Steve gives him a shy smile. “Your cocoa.”  
“My…” Oh. Bucky’s tickled pink. He can’t believe Steve actually made him this. A giggle’s about to ripple through him. “I was only fooling, husband!”  
“I know.” Steve chuckles. He shrugs and sits down, placing the cocoa in his hands now. “But I promised.”  
“Is that where you’ve been?”  
“Yes. I’m sorry it took so long. I had to wait for my chance at the stove.”  
“Oh. I thought… maybe you… forgot about me.”

Not forgot, not truly lost from his mind. Became distracted and engrossed in deep enough conversation that Bucky was just a distant memory. The expression on Steve’s face though, those large eyes filling with worry and possibly bordering on the edge of panic, tells him his fears have been for naught, and Bucky feels positively absurd. He’s not quite sure he even understands himself anymore. 

A year ago he could waltz into uncharted territory, date on his arm--lady, fella, it mattered not--room crowded with people whether he knew some of them, none of them or all of them, and the air would breathe contently around him. Bucky can smile with ease and make others blush with just a bat of the eyes. He’s sweet talked his way into lots of bed before, taken great care to be the source of pleasure and tenderness to those he’s shared nights with. But this place, surrounded by the House of Rogers’ laughter, he feels small and timid.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispers. “I didn’t mean to take so long. I should have come back to sit with you while the water boiled.” He leans in closer, scoots over enough that he’s able to slip his hand under the blanket and across his thigh. Gives him a tender, arousing squeeze. “Shall I show you how you’ve been on my mind, my Sweetheart?”

The cup rattles in Bucky’s hands. Steve stays them so he doesn’t drop it and spill cocoa all over his lap. Everything, _everything_ , in his body is tight. 

“No…” Bucky whimpers. Eyes frantic as they glance around the room to make sure no one has noticed. “ _Steve_!”  
His husband snickers and takes his hand back. “M’sorry.”

Bucky glares at him. Tries to anyway. He can’t really complete the expression, can’t fully conjure up the proper amount of heat when it’s too busy surging through the rest of his body.

“You really are mean, husband.” He sniffs. Turns his nose up. “I hope you realize you can no longer hide this fact from me.”  
He laughs. “I know it. You don’t really seem to mind all that much.”  
“I suppose I don’t.” Bucky sighs and glances down to take a sip of the drink he’s been given. He laughs before he can even bring it to his mouth. “Are there really seventeen marshmallows in this?”

Steve folds his smile in, blush sneaking under his skin as he peer through his lashes.

“That’s how many you asked for.” He says softly. Innocent, even pouty like. “And you were tickling me.”  
“Oh boy.” Bucky takes a drink this time. Gives him a peck on the cheek as a means of a peace offer. “Maybe you’ll go easy on me when you find out how ticklish… I am?”  
“Ah.” Steve lights up with this information and lets his fingers run along Bucky’s ribs. Bucky tenses, makes a funny, embarrassing noise, but Steve doesn’t wiggle into his side any more than that. “I can be nice, too, you know.”  
“Nice?” Bucky muses. “I think you can be much more than nice, husband. But I still believe you’ll tickle me.”  
“First chance I get.” He snickers. 

Bucky whines. Lip pushed out and eyes big, round and puppy like. One of those illegal looks he knows Steve likes. Letting his eyes fall closed, Steve rests his brow against his, lips curving up. 

“And you say _I’m_ unfair.” He mutters. 

A giggle rivers through Bucky. Soft and tranquil, and he’s about to run fingers through his husband’s hair when someone shouts. Loud, powerful and followed by a bursting round of laughter. Though neither of them were paying attention, Steve is smiling; gaze focused on the red-headed aunt that doesn’t seem to have use for an indoor voice. 

Bucky watches him for a moment. His husband, here, comfortable surrounded by all these people, where it’s noisy and loud and there’re so many different things happening at once. Music is playing from the big phonograph and the children have taken to singing along. Stories are being shared by means of affectionate shouting. Not all that different from a club yet nothing like one at all. Something inside Bucky clicks.

He’s nervous around these people. Feels those knots tying inside of him whenever he thinks of them ignoring him, even tighter whenever he think of them talking to him. They’re sweet and kind, friendly and accomodating and every bit as easy to get along with as Steve. None of that makes being lost in the middle of all of them any less nerve-wracking. Because Bucky’s not here to put on a show. 

Not like going to a club opening. There’s no flashy smile or flick of the eyebrows. No running his fingers through his hair and a cool, casual wink or witty remark that’ll win them over. This isn’t about Bucky. Or rather, not _just_ about Bucky.

This is for Steve. This is Steve’s family. The House of Rogers is Bucky’s House now. And… Bucky wants them to like him. 

“Are you okay?”

He hears Steve’s question. Looks at him and tries to offer a smile. There’s no real answer. Bucky’s as okay as one who keeps discovering new things of themselves lately can be. 

“Okay, everyone!” Lord Rogers, Joseph, as he’s been insisting, just like Sarah, for Bucky to call him, announces. “It’s five minute to midnight and you know what that means!”

The children hop up and down. Their little hands clap together and they cheer while some of Steve’s aunts and uncles whistle through their fingers. Only Bucky’s not quite sure what it means. Other than it being five minutes before the official start of Christmastide’s Eve, of course. He glances over his shoulder. Steve smiles at him.

“House tradition.” He whispers in explanation. “Dad’ll tell one ghost story before we open the parlor doors and we’ll all add one decoration to the tree.”  
“Oh…”

Bucky can feel his face falling as quiet descends upon the room. The walls that once held a cacophony of voices are now hushed as they wait patiently for Joseph to begin. The electric lighting have been turned off, the children excited to make the atmosphere right. Shadows lick the ceilings and floors, hugging everyone as they dance out of the fire in the fireplace and along the wicks of the candles placed haphazardly around the room. 

“Is that…” Steve tilts his head. Must see the apprehension growing in Bucky’s eyes even in the dimmed light. “alright?”  
“Uh… it’s…”

Something he’s always been teased about. Always. Ghost stories are tradition even in the House of Barnes and from childhood to adolescence to adulthood he’s never outgrown his embarrassing fear of them. Fear of the unknown, of unseen creatures sneaking into his room in the middle of the night to make a playground of his privacy, of his life. Fantasy or truth, it matters not. As a child he’d crawl into his mother’s lap. When he got older, Rebecca would hold his hand. When he grew older still, she held his hand under the table where no one could see.

There’s no Rebecca this year. No sister to hold his hand in hers, fingers gliding over skin when he tenses at the parts that get to him most. No mother to kiss his cheek and offer to check under his bed when the stories have all been spent. A joke of course, but Winifred would’ve done it for him if Bucky asked. No father to clap an arm over his shoulder and remind him that they’re only stories. Stories meant to remind the living to live true and righteous. 

“Bucky?”  
“Yes.” Bucky whispers back since Joseph is clearing throat to begin. “I’m… fine.”

This story is one that Bucky particularly hates. It’s the outcome that gets to him most. The uncertainty of it. Does the school teacher live or die? Does he make it across the bridge? Does the headless man catch him or not? 

Bucky’s trying to focus mostly on the cocoa that he has. Making heavy work of drinking it slowly. But not even halfway through the story the glass is empty and if he doesn’t focus enough, it’ll rattle atop the saucer in his shaky hands. The second time this happens, a pair of large hands cover both of his and the teacup and saucer. They appear out of the darkness and startle Bucky enough that he gasps. 

From next to him, Steve, the source of the hands of course, snickers. More embarrassment flushes through Bucky when he peers up at his husband. Even in this darkened room his eyes glow, piercing through the blackness like a lifeforce. He leans forward after setting the cup aside, mouth by Bucky’s ear.

“Are you scared, Bucky?” He whispers. “Do you not like ghost stories?”

He opens his mouth to answer. Nothing comes out though. All he can manage to do is give Steve a weak nod. Hope his husband won’t be too harsh with his teasing. Only Steve smiles at him. Smiles and then opens his arm out for him. There might not be a sister here tonight. No mother. They’re back on the Isle of Manhattan. No father. Lost to the world. But there is his husband. His Steve. 

Bucky scoots closer, lets himself melt into Steve’s embrace. To help out even more, Steve gently cradles the side of his head, pressing a hand over Bucky’s ear so that his other is resting up against his chest. He can hear, even feel Steve’s heart. Beat, beat, beat. His chest rises up and down with his contented breathing, as though having Bucky so close provides some sort of extra comfort. Smooth, rhythmic movements that at first hide the small vibrations running through him. It takes him a few minutes longer for Bucky to figure out what it is. Steve is humming. Blocking out the sounds of the story even further by humming to him.

Not just any tune either. Bucky recognizes it immediately. Their wedding song. Steve is softly humming their wedding song. 

***

It’s cold when Bucky wakes. A shiver rattles his limbs and shakes him out of his dreamless sleep. Free from nightmares thanks to Steve kindly keeping him safe from the ghost story. He smiles, reaches out next to him for some more warmth. Steve is always warm. Touches only blankets. Sitting up, he blinks a few times to rid his eyes of the leftover fuzz of not being awake. Steve’s not in bed with him and the fire’s gone out. 

He wraps the blankets tighter, but the cold’s already snuck in. Too late. Bucky tosses the covers aside, moans a bit at the assault the cool air takes on his body, and rushes over to the fireplace. He opens it and shoves a log inside, crouches down while he gets a fire going to feel the heat. Wonders if maybe his husband has snuck off to sneak a snack. 

The thought first makes him smile. Steve tiptoeing out of the room, down the hall lest he wake his parents, and into the kitchen to fix himself a snack. Something sweet, perhaps. Not something he normally eats. But then the thought turns sour. Puts tears in his eyes.

This is the time of night Rebecca would be waking him on Christmastide’s Eve. Poking her fingers into his sides and shaking him despite his every attempts to ignore her. She’d tug and pull on his arm, take his pillow away after he shoves his head underneath, until he’d give in and get up with her. Slip into the kitchen for milk and cookies. Peek at the tree and take guesses at what gifts were hidden under it. 

Is she in the kitchen tonight? Sitting at the table alone with a plate of cookies? Or has she forgone their tradition? Has she cried? Is she thinking about him? 

Bucky wipes away the one tear that crawls down his cheek. He doesn’t want to cry. He can be sad. He has reason to be and knows that Steve won’t be upset or disappointed with him if he is. In fact, if anything, Steve’ll be worried. He’ll come back in, find him hunched here, alone, by the fireplace, tears in his eyes, and rush over. Gather him up in his arms and hold him for as long as Bucky needs. He sniffles. 

Though he’s never really been a praying man, he needs to say something to someone.

“Father?” He murmurs quietly. Looks into the fireplace as he does and watches the bright flames; the life within them giving him a little hope that maybe his words won’t go unheard. “If… if you’re there? Can you… maybe make sure that Rebecca and Mother know I… that I love them? And um, that I’m… thinking about them?” He whispers, “I miss them.” A breath catches in his chest. “I miss you, Dad.” Bucky’s voice cracks and the tears break through. “I miss you so much.”

Bucky lets himself cry for a few minutes. Permits those few heavy tears, hard breaths. When Steve doesn’t return in that time, he gets ahold of himself and wipes his face dry. Rising to his feet, he exhales softly and goes to find him. He’ll feel better being with Steve. 

He heads down the hall quietly. Doesn’t want to disturb anyone in the late hour. Bucky slows though, when he hears a strange noise, getting louder the closer to the living room he gets. A broken, strained sound. Harsh and painful, and when he peeks around the corner, a part of him rips in half.

There’s Steve, and he’s curled up with his mother on the couch, sobbing in her lap. His arms are wrapped around her waist while she runs her hand over his hair, hushes him comforting words and sheds a few silent tears of her own. It takes all of Bucky’s willpower not to dash over there and pull Steve into his arms. To hold him and kiss away his tears.

Ignoring his desires, Bucky slides back into the shadows and disappears back down the hall. Leaves Steve to in his private moment with Sarah and goes back into the bedroom. He’s not sure if he should wait up for him or not. Steve’s the one who left without waking him in the first place, but… it doesn’t feel right going back to sleep knowing his husband is suffering. Bucky knows it would be a futile effort anyway. There’s no way he could shake that image, Steve bawling wordlessly up against his mother, out of his mind.

It’s almost an hour before the door creaks open. Slowly, opening only enough to let him fit through. Steve’s head is down when he comes in and he appears startled when he looks up to see Bucky sitting up. 

“Bucky!” He whispers into the night. “I… did I wake you?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “No. I… I was already awake.”  
“Oh.” He clears his throat. An awkward noise. Trying to clear something there and hide it from him. “Um. You… weren’t waiting for me, were you?”

Of course he was. But clearly that’ll upset him even more and that’s the last thing Bucky wants.

“No. I just couldn’t fall back to sleep.”  
“Ah. Okay. Are you warm enough? It’s a little… cold in here. Do you, maybe, want more blankets?”

He’s stalling. Trying to avoid talking about where he’s been by putting the topic on Bucky. Bucky shake his head. Pats the spot next to him instead.

“Come back to bed with me?” He requests. 

Steve nods and gets back under the covers. Doesn’t say a word about being upset or crying with Sarah. 

“Steve…”  
“You should go back to sleep.” He says before Bucky can try to get anything else out. “Tomorrow’s a busy day.”  
“But…”  
Steve rolls over. “I’m gonna go to sleep now, Bucky.”

Fingers long to touch him. Arms pining to hold him close and let him know that he’s there for him. Bucky even reaches out. He pulls back though, just before his palm would graze his back.

“Goodnight, husband.” He whispers before rolling over as well. 

Numbing minutes go by, filling Bucky’s head with all sorts of horrible ideas. Will Steve ever be able to open up to him? Can he ever love him? Is it even possible? Will Bucky ever be the person Steve really wants him to be? He’s nothing like Sam Wilson, nothing like Peggy Carter. How could Steve possibly love him? 

Bucky’s watching the fire when he feels the mattress shifting behind him. Steve readjusting his position. It’s still quiet. Only the sounds of the flames crackling in the uneasy room. The walls full of tension and ceiling watching awkwardly. 

“Um… Bucky?” Steve whispers.

His voice, unexpected and shocking, sends a jolt through Bucky’s body. He continues to stare at the fire.

“Yes?”  
The first answer he gets is a broken gasp, followed by a painly whimpered, “Bucky, I… I need you.”

Bucky scrambles to turn over. Finds his husband tear-streaked and struggling to hold himself together. He quickly sits up and gathers Steve in his arms.

“Steve…” Bucky breathes gently. Combs fingers through his hair. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Steve buries his head in Bucky’s lap, much like he had with Sarah and just sobs. Sobs so hard it sounds like it hurts. Bucky holds onto him tightly and just keeps repeating that he’s there with him. He can’t help shedding his own tears when Steve starts begging him.

“Please…” He weeps. “Bucky, please, I don’t want her to die…”  
Bucky hugs him closer. Kisses the top of his head. “I know, Stevie. I know you don’t. S’not fair.”  
“Please, Bucky, don’t let her.”

It takes Bucky a moment to answer that. To make sure his voice won’t crack when he tries to use it again. 

“I wish I could save her, Steve. I would for you, husband. I would.”

Steve cries harder for a few minutes. So hard it makes Bucky wonder how long he’s been holding these tears in. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never truly shared this pain with even himself before. Bucky has him so secured in his embrace that when Steve abruptly tries to pull away, he almost topples over. 

“Oh… oh, Bucky, I…” Steve shakes his head. Gasps and fights back more tears. “I shouldn’t do this to you. Not when your…”  
“ _No_.” Bucky interrupts. “No, Steve, don’t you do that.” He takes hold of his face. Looks him straight in the eye, even with his own tears forming. “Listen to me, right now. Yes, my father died.” Those tears spill out. He can’t help it. “Eight months, three weeks and four days ago. But that doesn’t change the fact that _your_ mother is dying _now_ and _I_ am going to be there for _you_ whether you want me to be or not.”

Steve’s face has scrunched up. He nods and whimpers. Whispers, ‘okay’, and rests his head back down on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky nestles his head with his.

“Bucky?”  
“Yes, Stevie?”  
“It… it hurts. So much. She’s not even… gone yet.”  
“I know, Steve. But it, um, it get’s better. Easier. You won’t even realize it.” Because it’s true. One day, it just was. “Being with someone you love and someone who loves you.” Oh no. “I mean, with people you love and who love you. It’s just... that helps. And you have a lot of that. Love. I mean, there’re a lot of people who love you.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. He does slowly put his arms around Bucky though. Hugging him tightly. His trembling stops. Even his breathing steadies. 

Bucky’s stomach tightens. He’s very aware of the words that have just tumbled out of his mouth. Not quite those words. Close to the same sentiment; the same message. Steve sniffles and sits up again. He’s no longer crying, but one last tear rolls down his cheek. Before he has the chance to wipe it clean, Bucky leans forward and kisses it away for him.

Steve smiles softly. Lashes wet, but drying. “Thank you, Bucky.”  
Taking hold of his hands, Bucky kisses his knuckles. “You’re welcome.”  
“Bucky… is it… hard for you to be here?”  
“Hard? A little.” Bucky turns Steve’s hands over and traces circles in his palms. “I… I miss my family. I miss Rebecca. And I miss Talia and Clint and Maria. Going out with them on the weekends and being out in the public.” He glance up to meet Steve’s eyes. “But I’m glad I’m with you.”  
“You are?”  
“Oh yes, Steve. I am.” If he can’t say those words, he can at least say these. “You make me feel good, husband.”

His husband’s eyes go wide. Surprise filling them with all colors of the rainbow. 

“I… I do?”  
“Yes.”  
“Bucky, I…” Steve lights up a bit. A tear sneaks out but he brushes it away. “I’m so sorry for how you ended up here. I really am. But…” He looks down at their hands, where Bucky’s still running his fingers along his palms. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, baby. I’m so happy you’re my husband.”  
“Well, thank you for saying yes.”

Steve grins. His fingers’re twirling Bucky’s wedding ring around. It makes a noise as the platinum scrapes against the metal. Bucky likes the sound. He can’t feel the ring on his finger. The noise let’s him know it’s there.

“Bucky?”  
He looks up from his hand. “Yes?”  
“May I kiss you?”  
“Yes… oh! No, wait…” Bucky actually has a better idea. “Can I give you one of your presents first?”  
“Now?” Steve chuckles. He’s growing playful again. Bucky can see the spark of mischief in his eye. It makes him feel good knowing he can sooth his husband so well. “Did you forget House tradition already?”  
“No, husband. Gifts at the twelfth stroke of midnight.” Bucky sighs and gives him those big eyes. Peering up at him with his lip pushed out like he enjoys seeing. “Please? Just this once, husband?”  
Steve whines a little and presses his brow into Bucky’s. “Do I get my kiss after then?” 

A smirk pulls up on Bucky’s mouth. He gives his husband a shrug and even the wind seems to laugh. 

“Okay, okay.” Steve gives in.

Bucky rolls off the bed before Steve can change his mind and hurries out of the bedroom. He’s trying not to let Steve’s lack of response to what he said earlier bother him. Though Bucky’s not convinced a man like Steve Rogers can love him, he’s still holding onto a little bit of hope that it’s possible. After all, he didn’t come out and say those precise words. It’s more than likely that Steve didn’t quite catch his meaning. He was quite emotional, too. It’s very possible that Bucky’s mismatched and jumbled up statements confused him. It wouldn’t be the first time Bucky poorly communicated something in this marriage. 

He sighs as he lets himself into the parlor. For a moment he can only stand there in the dark room, colossal tree towering over him in the shadows. Candles not lit and black trinkets hanging from branches reaching out across the night. This is not about him tonight. Steve needs him to be strong. Yes, he misses his father and picturing Mother sitting at the table in the morning, sipping coffee alone hurts. Thoughts of Rebecca on her own tonight fill him with a loss like no other. A cloud must glide smoothly across the sky, moving away from moon. It casts a beam of white light in through the window and right upon the gifts sleeping comfortably under the tree. 

Bucky smiles at them. The one he’s there for smiles back, the paper around it shining in the moonlight. He picks it up and hurries back to Steve. Bucky’s a little nervous that maybe he’s fallen back to tears while he was gone, but Steve’s just sitting where he left him and perks up with a grin when he comes back in. Excited now, Bucky clutches the package to his chest and climbs into the bed with him.

“Okay, it’s small, but…” He bites on his lip and hands it over. “Here. I… I hope you like it.”

Steve handles it as though it might break in his hands as he tears the paper off. He pulls out the notebook Bucky’s bought for him. Bound in red leather with two brass closures on the front. Yellowed parchment, sides frayed, Steve runs his fingers along the ends of it and he stares at it and turns it over in his hands.

“I… you…” Bucky can’t think of anything to say as Steve silently continues to hold the notebook. He looks almost nervous holding it. “You have a lot of them. I thought, maybe…” Now he’s nervous himself. “Uh… I just…”

Steve is flipping through it now. Paper brushing against his thumb and hand sliding against cool pages. He glances up with a smile.

“Bucky…” He breathes. “Thank you. I… this is perfect. Thank you.” Steve holds it close to him for a moment, as though giving it a hug, before setting it down on the nightstand. He cups the side of his face, hand curtained by Bucky’s falling hair. “Bucky? Can I kiss you now? Please?”  
“Um… no.”  
Steve pouts at him. “No?”  
“One more gift.”  
“Another gift? Before Midnight? This is highly untraditional, Lord Barnes.”  
“I know, I know, but… you don’t even have to unwrap this one.”  
He tilts his head. “I’m intrigued. What is this gift?”  
“Steve,” He whispers and takes hold of his hands. Bucky moves closer to him. “Husband. You don’t need, I mean, I don’t…” He needs a moment. Wants to word this better than he’s worded things in the past. “No more asking, Stevie. Okay? You don’t need to ask anymore. I love your kisses. I love when you kiss me. Always kiss me. Whenever you want. All the time if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s eyes light up. He says nothing. Does nothing. Only stares. For a moment, Bucky wonders if maybe he’s said it wrong. Until Steve smiles like he’s both happy and holding back tears, and pulls Bucky in, slamming their mouths together. 

Bucky moans almost immediately. His husband’s lips glide across his cheek and to his neck. He starts to suck. Gently, but with so much enthusiasm it’s as though Steve’s been longing to taste him like this for years. The way Steve’s tongue slides along his skin, Bucky’s already shivering in his arms. 

He doesn’t disturb what Steve’s doing, but he needs to get closer. Needs to _feel_ more of him and climbs onto Steve’s lap, straddles his legs over his waist and wraps them around him. Mouth cupped just upon his clavicle, Steve groans when Bucky grinds their hips together. Steve is just as hard as he it. He can feel his erection pushed up against his own. 

Steve sucks in a deep breath and licks his lips. He pets the side of Bucky’s face, runs his fingers through his hair and grips gently, just to bring him in to kiss again. The thrill of having Steve kiss him like this, with his hand carding his hair, it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. 

There’re nerves in his stomach. Bubbling up and bursting through his body. Everything feels heightened. 

Every touch. Steve’s lips against his. His hands touching everywhere. Bucky’s hands doing everything they can to feel every inch of his husband. Any time Steve thrusts his hips up; whenever Bucky pushes back. Everything is so powerful, so _electric_. The power of the sun itself, bringing his body on the edge of exploding in just moments. 

Every sound. Each hitch of his breath. All the slight whimpers that climb out of his throat. Steve’s moans, any little noise he makes in response to Bucky’s movements. They’re all so _intoxicating_. 

Every sight. Bucky opens his eyes when Steve pulls away after kissing for a long while. Long enough to make lips a little puffy and redder than usual, and starts pressing kisses down his neck. He watches Steve as his lips touch his throat. Bucky trembles. His husband is beautiful. The glow of the fire touching his skin, lighting up the golden features of his hair…

“You’re… Steve, you’re so _beautiful_ …”

Steve pauses with his kissing, leaving his mouth right at the base of his throat before peering up at him. A blush fills his cheeks. Bucky can see it even in just the light of the fire.

“Steve?” Bucky whispers. “Steve… make me yours. Please?”  
“B-Bucky…” Steve’s voice shakes a little. “You’re sure?”  
“Yes. Please, Steve. Please. Make me your husband.”

A rush of air whizzes by them as Steve flies to his feet with Bucky still wrapped around him. He sucks him back into a kiss and is still kissing him as he drops them back onto the bed. Bucky on his back and Steve on his knees hovered over him. His hand glides up Bucky’s shirt, slipping it up and over his head. He sheds his own shirt next and dives in to kiss Bucky’s chest, leaving not one stop of it untouched by his lips. 

Bucky trembles underneath his mouth. Body on fire, muscles curling tight over bones. Needs and desires rising in forms of sighs and hard breaths, hands gripping tight the messy blankets beneath him when Steve’s body grinds up against him. 

Steve rises back up, lets his mouth fall by his ear where he whispers, “You already _are_ my husband, Bucky. _Always_.”  
“Steve…” Bucky breathes, a feather of a name on lips so shaky. Full of love and honor, and he guides his husband’s face towards him so he can get his mouth to his again. Wishes they could remain like this forever. 

Skin against skin, Steve’s chest against his. Sweat gathering and mixing as they slowly rub together, gradually gaining in speed and pressure. Bucky quivering, Steve pulling him tighter in his arms. He almost yells a groan when Steve’s hand reaches between them and slides into his pants. His entire body is shaking so hard. He’s surprised the bed isn’t vibrating under them. But Steve hasn’t touched him yet. His hand is slowly sliding his pants off, discarding them somewhere unseen in the room for the shadows to care for. 

“Oh Steve… please…” Bucky pleads. Like never before. With Brock, yes. _Please._ He’d beg. _Push harder. Make it hurt_. But this is different. He needs Steve. Has to know what’s it’s like to have him physically. “Please touch me, husband.”  
“Shh,” Steve sooths. Both his hands run down Bucky’s sides. They part his legs, fingers walking along tender skin, but still don’t touch him where he’s aching most. “I’m going to take care of you, baby. Just relax.”

Steve slips off the edge of the bed. Onto his knees and kisses up Bucky’s inner thigh. He does the same on the other side. Bucky’s head tosses back and forth and it’s not until he hears Steve’s soft chuckle, feels its warmth against the cold sweat on his skin, that he realizes he’s whimpering _please, please, please_ over and over. 

Something soft and wet and warm touches his throbbing cock. He weeps over a blissful cry at the touch. Realizes it’s Steve’s tongue, lapping up and over, swirling all around, and he gasps and can’t even make another sound. All noises get lost, trapped coming out of his throat. Bucky runs his hands over his face before placing them atop his husband’s head. Needs to touch him. To feel that connection to him as his mouth folds over him and his cock melts into his throat. 

“Oh… _Steve_ …” Bucky holds back his shouts. Can’t let go the way he wants to. Wishes he could just scream Steve’s name into the night so the stars and heavens can hear the pleasure so tenderly bestowed upon him. “Oh God… Steve…”

Steve’s hands never leave him, not even to touch himself. Even though Bucky could feel just how much he must long for physical contact himself, Steve denies himself and focuses only on him. His hands continue touching Bucky’s body. They touch his legs, fingers kneading and massaging. They’re on his hips, pulling Bucky’s cock even deeper into his throat and pulling so many grunts and heavy sighs from Bucky it becomes a language for the sheets and blankets tangled under him. They move for his sides, carressing and holding, claiming him as cherished and his husband’s-- _Steve’s_. 

When Steve’s mouth lifts off of him, Bucky thinks he might actually cry. He hasn’t felt this good, this relaxed and yet so on edge in… in… well he can’t even remember. But the second his lips are no longer wrapped around him, they’re replaced with his hand, stroking long and smooth. Panting heavy and hard, Bucky thrusts his hips up only to have his side snatched by Steve’s free hand. He pushes him back down to hold him still. Bucky struggles for only a moment. Wants so badly to move in suit with Steve’s hand, to thrust into the fist around him. Steve’s hand gets tighter to pin him down and Bucky concedes. Gives in and Steve smirks. Likes pleasuring him and Bucky likes making him happy, especially when that includes his thumb rubbing over the top of cock like that. Bucky groans. Leans his head back in the unhelpful clump of sheets. 

“Bucky,” Steve groans. Voice deep and husky. Different. “I want you. I want to be inside of you.”  
“Yes yes yes.” Bucky nods quickly. “Please. Steve.”  
“I don’t want to hurt you…”  
“You won’t, you won’t.”  
“ _Bucky_.” He growls. Snaps Bucky back out of his dreamy stupor having Steve touch him has put him in. He didn’t even realize how lightheaded he’s been feeling until he hears Steve talk like that. “Look at your husband.”

He does. Eyes find Steve staring down at him. His husband is on his feet again. Hand still moving only slower now. His look is powerful. Meaning and concern whispered in each line of his face.

“I… yes? Steve?”  
A smirk twitches on his lips. Relieved. “Okay. Okay, good. I need to know. Again. You’re okay with this?”  
“Oh…” Oh. He wasn’t just talking about hurting him physically. Steve Rogers. Bucky would laugh if he could conjure it up. Maybe cry, too. Perhaps he does. His husband does tilt his head a little. “Yes. Yes, I… yes, Steve. I want this. I do. I swear, husband.”  
“I just… there’s no… pressure. We can stop. If you…”  
“ _Steve_!” Bucky whines. “ _Please_ stop overthinking everything. Just be my husband,” He shakes his head, “No. Be my _headship_. Take me. Kiss me again, okay?”

The hand around him stills and for a moment, just a heartbeat, Bucky thinks perhaps he’s stepped over a line. Pushed Steve a little too far. Steve’s fingers come off him. Unwrapping, one by one until there’s no longer part of him touching at all.

“S-Steve? I-I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

He’s interrupted with Steve’s tongue plunging back into his mouth. Bucky barely has the chance to moan when Steve’s hoisting him farther onto the bed, shoving his own pants off at the same time. Back up against the pillows with Steve pressing hard kisses into his mouth, Bucky latches his limbs around him. Steve’s breathless when he tears away and reaches for something in the top drawer of the nightstand. A jar of petroleum jelly. 

Excitement blazes through him. This is going to happen. He’s going to feel his husband inside of him. Touching every inch he can reach. Steve is going to make him his. Assert his full rights as his headship and consummate this marriage. Fill him up, be inside his body. 

“Bucky!”

Steve’s hand is tapping his face. Trying to get his attention. What’s wrong with him? He’s never felt so… _drunk_ without actually _being_ drunk before. Similar sensations that have taken over when being intimate with someone. Made him feel buzzing, airy, sometimes even disconnected. It’s even happened with Steve. It happened with Brock, too. The perk of being with him. Never this intense. Never this _wonderful_. 

“Yes. Steve? I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m with you. I swear.”  
“Bucky, sit up.”

Bucky grabs onto Steve. His hands slipping a little along the sweat clinging to his skin. 

“Please don’t stop… please. Husband, Steve, I… I need you.”  
“Sh, sh,” Steve holds him right back, pulls him into his arms. “Okay. I just… it’s important to me that I know you’re with me. That I have your consent. Fully. You’re not… I don’t want you to do something now that you’ll regret later.” He shakes his head, a small, self-deprecating laugh coming from his throat. “If you want to stop, please tell me.” 

His face’s been smothered between Steve’s neck and shoulder. There’s only one emotion other the sheer physical need that can possibly weasel it’s way into his body right now. He adores his husband. Completely adores him. Sounding like a textbook, here, on the brink of consummation, where he could have Bucky lie down and simply slam himself into him if that’s what he so desired and yet all he wants is to make sure Bucky’s the one who feels safe and secure. 

Bucky lifts his head and looks at his husband. Eyes land on Steve’s. He’s watching him intently, blue eyes more exhilarating than ever. Bucky scans his husband’s body, fingers tracing over thick, strong muscles. He’s felt them before. Been pressed up against them, but seeing them, touching them like this, it’s different. He needs to taste him more, and Bucky leans in to get his lips on his chest, tongue slipping between the thin contours of his pecs and abs. Steve’s head dips forward and he kisses the top of Bucky’s hair. 

“I need you to tell me if I hurt you.”  
“You won’t.”  
“Bucky, I’m not doing this if you don’t listen to me.” He says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
“Okay, okay.” Bucky agrees. “I…” He gasps when Steve’s hand makes its way back across his thigh. “I… yes. O-okay.”  
“Lay back,” Steve whispers. “Knees up.” Bucky nods. Does as Steve wants and watches as his husband dips his hand in the jar he retrieved from the end table. Steve lathered the jelly onto his finger before looking back at him again. Murmurs, “Let me know if I hurt you.”

Bucky says, “Okay.” and can’t imagine why he’s waited so long for this. How could he have ever had any doubts with this man? So kind and caring. Steve’ll never harm him.

He feels Steve’s finger touch him, gently pushing and seeking entrance inside his body. Bucky gasps and hisses slightly at its insertion. Steve pauses. Watches for any other sign of discomfort or hurt and only goes on when Bucky nods for him to. As he sinks further in, Bucky pushes back.

“More…” Bucky murmurs. Voice on edge, pleading even. “Please, Steve.”

Steve nods. Carefully adds another finger and Bucky’s eyes roll back, closing as they do. Calmer now, relaxed and more confident, Steve starts letting himself explore while inside of him. Bucky feels his fingers spreading a bit, curling slightly as they pull in and out of him. His next breath catches on a whimper and Steve’s other hand strokes calmly over his cock. Soft, rhythmic. 

“You’re incredible, Bucky,” Steve says. Gentle praises that melt into his very bones. Keeps both hands going. “So incredible. My incredible Sweetheart. My husband.”  
“Steve… oh God…”

Steve pushes a little deeper. One perfect twist of his hand and lightning strikes Bucky’s spine. Shoots through his stomach and his eyes fly open. Word are spilling from his mouth as his husband continues massaging fingers over that perfect spot, hands frantically trying to find something to grab on to as though they need to. Steve does it again and again until Bucky’s shaking and writhing and swearing and trying so hard not to scream his name.

“Steve!” He chokes out. So close to a scream, but he manages to stifle himself. Maybe? “Oh, m’gonna, I… oh please… I…”

Steve’s fingers suddenly slide out of him and Bucky whimpers at the emptiness. Steve hovers over him, lifting his hips closer with powerful, strong arms. He leans in and kisses him before easing forward. Bucky feels him sliding in, stretching him much wider than two finger. He grunts a little and Steve freezes immediately.

“Hey, are you okay? Am I hurting you?” Bucky takes in a deep breath. Feels a clean, soft hand brushing wet hair away from his face. He shakes his head. “Answer your husband, Bucky. Out loud. Otherwise…”  
“I’m okay, Steve.” He locks eyes with him. Wants him to know just how okay this is. Perfect. Stars and moon in a clear night sky. “I promise.  
“Are you… you’re sure?”

He answers with a kiss. Lips brushed gingerly upon his husband’s and it must drive Steve over the edge. Any ounce of control he might have had has been stolen away. Sucked in by Bucky’s kiss, and he slams forward, diving all the way in. Bucky does yell this time. All with sheer bliss. Steve, his husband, inside of him. Thrusting once, twice, before gathering him in his arms and lifting him up so that he’s straddled on his lap. He wraps him up close; Bucky folds his arms around him right back. 

This makes Steve get even deeper and he’s once again hitting that sweet, spectacular spot. Fireworks shoot off. Everywhere. They’re even better with Steve holding him so close, kissing his neck, his collarbone, everywhere he can. He’s saying things. Feathered words along his skin as he kisses. Words Bucky can hardly understand as he moans and pants with Steve thrusting in and out of him. Pulling him in closer, slamming him harder, thrusting in further. His name comes off his tongue a few times, _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Mine_ is growled. _Yes_ , Bucky agrees. _Yes. Yes. Yes._

“Tell me.” Steve orders. “You want me. Here. To be here.”  
“I do.” Bucky says. Truthful. The most truthful answer ever. “With you. Right now.”  
Steve slows a little. “You mean that.”  
“Yes. More than anything.”  
“You have me, Bucky. I’m yours, too. You know that?”  
Bucky grins. Moves his hips again and nods. “Yes. I do, Steve. Husband. My headship. _My_ Stevie.”

Steve’s lip quivers with a whimper at that. His body shakes under him and he devours Bucky’s mouth with his own. He tenses and moves so fast Bucky knows without any experience with him that he must be close. That thick hand finds his cock again and starts pumping strong and fast. 

Bucky feels himself tipping over the edge. Thunder clapping through him and turning the black of night white all around him. He can’t help screaming again, yelling out Steve’s name as waves of built up need spill out of him, crashing over a shore of desires finally relieved. 

He’s still shuddering, lost in the bliss of sheer sensation when Steve tenses and grunts, grabs the back of Bucky’s neck and yanks him in to kiss him again as he fills him with his own relief. The way Steve holds him, clutching tight, enveloping and wrapping, it’s like he never wants to let him go. 

At the moment, Bucky’s perfectly okay with that. He’s still shaking. Can’t seem to stop. Brock was the last one. Months of nothingness. Of numbing pain with sex. This is nothing like that. The total opposite. He’d forgotten what this was like. To really feel someone. To let them in. Maybe he’s never actually felt this at all. Felt this wonderful sinking feeling. Sinking into a depthless ocean and yet rising above the entire world at the time time. 

“Hey, Bucky? Bucky, please answer me.”

He blinks. Twice. Realizes that he’s laying back down with Steve hovered over him. There’s a wet cloth folded on the nightstand. Steve’s cleaned him up. No one’s ever done that. His husband looks worried as he pets his hand over his head. Kisses lips to his eyes, his nose, his cheeks. Says his name again and again. Calling to him. Wants his attention. 

“What?”  
Steve breathes out what seems to be a long held breath. “Bucky. Are you okay?”  
“Me?” He glances around. “Why?”  
“You’re… Bucky, you’re trembling.”  
“Oh.” Yes. He is. Still. It’s not what Steve thinks. “Happy.”  
“What?”

He’s not coherent. Or at least, mouth getting out nonsensical comments. Things Steve can’t understand when they make sense to Bucky. He needs to assure him that he’s fine. Bucky gives him a smile. That does a little good. Steve grins a bit.

“That’s a start. Okay.” He chuckles. Tension in it. “Can you speak?”  
“Little.” A little. He’s never felt quite like this before. It’s not really a bad feeling. Strange though. Like he’s flying. Air rushing around him. Dizzying. “Dunno.”  
“But you’re… you’re okay?”

Bucky nods. Okay. More than okay. He’s sailing. High. Perfect. His eyes are closed, but he can still feel Steve there. His hand is petting over his hair. 

“Okay. Um. Okay.” Steve kisses him. Gently. “Do you need anything? Are you hurt? Cold?”  
Bucky smiles. “Wanna hold you.”  
“You wanna hold _me_?”  
Lips pull up wider. “Please?”  
Steve chuckles a little. “Okay. Under the covers? I don’t want you to get cold.”  
“Kay.”

His voice comes out high-pitched. Child-like even. Bucky doesn’t care. Doesn’t seem like Steve minds either. He’s pulling back the blankets and slowly curling into Bucky’s open arms. Bucky engulfs him right away, runs soft fingers along the side of his face.

“Lemme know if…” Steve yawns, “you need something.”  
“Mhm.”  
“Not gonna fall asleep on you.” He says.

Bucky grins, but try as he might, he knows that’s not true. He can hear the sleep in Steve’s voice already. It’s slipped into his muscles as Bucky’s fingers continue to trace along his skin. Steve yawns again and snores loud enough once that he startles himself awake. Mumbles something about not being asleep and is snoring again in minutes. 

The fog begins to clear as his husband sleeps. Bucky sinks back down into his body and feels tears slide down his cheek. He’s not sad. Not at all. Overwhelmed maybe. No need to wake Steve. No need for anything except maybe one. Just one thing that only he can do. Something that needs to be said.

“Steve?” He murmurs. Has to be certain. “Husband, are you awake?”

He’s only answered with a quick snore and a shift. Steve stays tucked comfortably in his arms and Bucky smiles. 

So Bucky whispers to the shadows of the moonlit night, to the soft glow of a kindled fire and his husband’s dreaming ears, “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there you have it! They've done the deed! Yaaaaay!! I really hope you liked and that the build up and relief were as enjoying and satisfying to read as it was to write. So as always feel free to leave comments since I'm running late and going out for the first time in months I'm not going to have my normal gifs but I will leave you with these:
> 
>  
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> Well I'm off!! Hope you enjoyed!! Happy Friday!!


	22. Well This is Unexpected Cause I wasn't planning on Being Able to Update But Look! A Chapter!

The House is awake. Well, some of it. Early morning risers that are up with the dawn and bustling about to get the day started. Scents of a cooking breakfast sneak through uncooperative cracks under the door. The sun’s first rays of light have crept in through the blinds on the the window. Casting sun-streaked bars across the bed. One particular beam lies across Steve’s cheek, nestled comfortably in the facial hair that’s grown in over the past few days. He scratches at it, but it doesn’t seem to want to leave. 

Steve rubs his face against his…

Husband’s chest. Because he’s fallen asleep in Bucky’s arms. After they’d consummated. Beautifully. Sweetly filled music through an otherwise silent night. Steve drifted to sleep in love and tucked securely in the only place he wanted to be.

Though he’d promised he wouldn’t fall asleep on him. What if Bucky needed something from him? What if he regrets what they did? Panic rushes through him and every inch of Steve tenses around his husband. Who must be awake because long, thin fingers begin trailing along the contours of his spine. 

Strange that Bucky would be awake so early. Maybe thoughts have kept him from sleep and dreams. He gulps down a bit of that fear and all consuming guilt. Lifts his chin and peers up at Bucky. Steve’s met with an adoring smile. Now he’s confused. Bucky’s never looked at him like this before. With that light in his eyes. Steve’s not so sure he’s deserving.

The only morning greeting that comes to mind, bumbling and foolish after a night like the one past is, “What?”  
Bucky chuckles. Smiles. Answers, “Well good morning to you, too, husband.”  
“Oh. Yes. You…” Steve buries his face back in the chest he’s on. Mumbles, “I’m an idiot. Good morning.”  
“You’re not an idiot. Far from it.”

They’re naked together. In bed. This realization doesn’t make Steve self-conscious as it has in the past. He feels beautiful actually. Bucky told him so last night. Called him beautiful. The memory alone makes him blush. Bucky’s chest rumbles with a laugh as languid fingers move along his back again.

“What’re you thinking about that has you so red, husband?” He asks.   
“Um…” He hesitates but decides to share his thoughts. “You called me beautiful.”  
“Oh. I only said it because I believe it to be most true, good sir.” 

Steve glances up to see Bucky nibbling on his lip. Suddenly shy himself though he was most decidedly not shy last night. Open and unguarded, forgetting to hold back and trying hard not to scream. Thankfully he didn’t do as well as he might have hoped. The House might not be as grateful as Steve is, but they won’t speak about it. Newlyweds and Christmastide seasons. Can’t be helped. Steve smiles and lifts himself off his husband’s chest. 

“Bucky, are you alright?”  
He smiles and nods. “Yes.”  
“You’re sure? You’re not sore? Hurt?”  
“No. Well…” Bucky shifts a little, “maybe sore. A bit. Good though. I’m okay, Steve. S’not the first time I… oh.” He blushes. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear that.”

In that he’s correct. Steve really doesn’t need to hear the intimate details of Bucky’s past sexual partners. Not right now anyway. There is, however, something he does need to hear.

“Bucky, we, uh, we need to talk.”

He scoots up a little to lean against the headboard. Confusion sneaks upon his face, pulling further when his eyebrows stitch.

“Okay. Did I… do something wrong?”  
“No! No of course not. Nothing at all. You were incredible. It’s just… last night… after… you were…”  
“Ah, right. That.”  
“Yes. That. You’re okay? I was worried.”

Worried. Very worried. Bucky had been so out of it. Eyes glazed over, half closed. Practically unresponsive while still being awake. Steve would have thought he was about to pass out if not for the dreamy look on his face. Steve has seen that expression before. That far off, lost daze that sometimes happens to his husband when he’s touched him, pet him, praised him. Never quite that intense. Still, it took him the better of ten minutes just to get him to respond to his name. 

“What happened, Bucky?”

Bucky shakes his head. There’s a sort of smirk on his lips. Amusement quirked up in the curves of a soft smile, glowing brightly as a sparkle of sun rests happily upon it. 

“I don’t really know. It’s never been like that before.”  
Well if that does nothing to make Steve feel better. “Never?”  
“I mean, not like that. I did tell you it’d be different with you.” His eyes glitter when he tilts his head and they play in the sunlight. “That day. On the piano.”  
“Different.” Yes. He did. _It’ll mean something_ , Bucky’d said. “And… it was?”  
“Most definitely, husband.” Bucky assures him.   
“It wasn’t bad, was it?”  
“No. Not at all.”  
“Okay, but…” 

He’s cut off by his husband’s not-so-valiant effort at holding in his sigh. When Steve’s eyes glance up, Bucky drops himself to the side. Landing amid playful blankets and pillows.

“I’m okay, Steve. I was last night, too.” He promises. Reaches up to rest a hand at the side of his face. “Just different.”

Different yes. For Steve, too. Magnificent and right. Nothing felt awkward, or out of place. Earth perfectly balanced and gravity in tune with them. As though the world had been waiting for Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes to fit together before it could start really spinning for the first time. 

Only Bucky’s not taking the aftermath seriously enough. Doesn’t understand that he was with Steve only in body for a while. Steve was scared. Scared he’d done something to hurt him. If not physically, perhaps emotionally.

“ _No_.” Steve scolds, quickly shackling a large hand around his husband’s left wrist and hoisting him back up. “We’re talking. And you’re going to listen and answer me.”

Bucky flinches. Flinches and looks down before sweeping his gaze back up to him, abruptly aware Steve’s speaking as both husband and headship. 

“I… M’sorry, Steve.” He fiddles with his fingers. Flesh over metal. Tips tapping over silver plates. 

Steve puts his hands over Bucky’s. Playing is fine. At any other given time. This is not one of them. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He slides a finger under Bucky’s chin to lift it. “But we’re going to talk about this. Seriously.”  
“I… I _am_ okay, Steve.”  
“Right. But were you the whole time?” He asks. “ _Nothing_ happened at all? I need to know. Cause I fell asleep when I promised I wouldn’t and if something like that happens again I need to know what to do.”  
“I…” He hesitates and Steve can see thoughts struggling to stay quiet. “I just…”  
“You promised you’d be honest with me.”  
Bucky’s eyes close. “Honesty.”  
“Wait. Okay, hold on.” Steve’s sensing he may be ruining something special. May have taken a star sparkled sky and darkened it with heavy clouds and rain. “I want to take care of you, Bucky. I need to know that I’m doing that. Because I…” Not I love you. That’d be too much. How Steve longed to scream it to every heaven above the Earth last night. To any Lord and God that would hear the proclamation. _I love you. I love you. I love you._ “I’m your husband. Your headship.” He rattles his head. None of this is coming out right. “I just…” Steve sighs and simply admits, “I was scared, Bucky. I need to know how to take care of you if that happens again.”

Bucky’s staring at him. Thoughts that remain unspoken coming and going for several minutes until he nods and looks down. Ashamed, Steve thinks. 

“I cried.” He whispers. Words leaving his mouth in wind-like softness and is quick to add, “Not in a bad way though. I… when I felt more like myself again I just… felt like crying.”

Steve sighs. On the inside. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. His husband needed him and he promised he wouldn’t. He was just so tired. Wiped out from emotion. So many. Filled to the absolute brim with them; tainted with preemptive loss and bursting with bliss. 

A hand seeks out a favored spot on his husband. Soft skin by his jawline, where Bucky melts into the touch. 

“Can you tell me what exactly happened? What it felt like?”  
He nods a little as his eyes flutter shut. “It was like… I drifted away. Almost like a dream, even though I knew I wasn’t dreaming?”  
“Were you scared?”  
Bucky’s eyes open quickly. “No. I knew I was with you. I felt safe.”  
“Safe.”

Steve repeats the word. Needs to for his own ears to fully understand it. Safe. Bucky feels safe with him. He feels the sensation slowly sink through his body. Everything is so new, but Bucky trusts him with it. 

“You _are_ safe with me.” He tells him. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m going to take care of you.”  
“I know.” Bucky smiles. “You promised my family you would. And me. At our wedding.”  
“You…” The chuckle hits him unexpectedly. “You remember that?”  
“That you promised you’d take care of me? The speech you made. Yes, husband, that part I remember. It’s the _last_ thing I remember, but I remember nonetheless.”

Steve grins and tucks hairs behind his husband’s ear. Knows they won’t stay back there. They practically laugh at his attempts to do so. 

“Last night,” He starts again. Stomach bunching up at this one. “You were trying to speak. Do you know what you were trying to say?”   
“Oh.” Pink faced, Bucky looks down at his lap. Before saying anything else, he tugs on his ear--and those hairs give Steve a collective _ha ha_ as they fall back out. “Yes. I was… um. Steve, I was trying to tell you about being happy.”  
“Happy?”  
“I am.”  
“What?” 

Bucky groans and falls face first into Steve’s lap. Mumbles something there that Steve doesn’t catch. The blankets kindly do Steve the favor of providing something of a barrier between his husband’s lips and the skin on his legs. He pets his hand over Bucky’s hair and taps his shoulder with the other.

“You’re gonna have to try that again.” He snickers. “I can’t hear you.”

Bucky lets out a playful whine and turns his head before rolling over completely.

“I was trying to tell you, last night I mean, and now, that I was, that I am… happy. Here. With you. I’m happy, Steve. You make me happy.”

The world seems to go quiet for a moment. Washes away like it sometimes does when Bucky says things like that to him. Everything feels calm and peaceful, settling inside of him like the first rays of light on a clear summer’s day. 

“I never say anything right, do I?” Bucky mumbles. He looks irritated with himself. Disgruntled as lips twist this way and that. “Steve, I just want you to know that I’m…”  
“Bucky?” Steve interrupts when the world sneaks back in place around him.  
“Um… yes?”  
“Can I kiss you?”

Bucky gives him a patient smile. Tolerant, and at first Steve thinks he’s teasing him as he likes to sometimes do. Then he remembers he’s allowed to kiss him. His husband’s given him that consent. Blanketed, stretching over a time that lasts until he revokes it, if he ever should, and Steve’s filled with even _more_ joy than he was just a breath ago. 

And so he does. Steve takes his husband’s face in his hands and plants a kiss, firm and possessive. Because he can. Because he wants to. Because Bucky wants it. He made Bucky his last night; Bucky made him his right back.

Steve can feel his husband smiling against him. Maybe trying to hold in a giggle as they slide back into the blankets. His entire body is lighting up with desire. Arousal renewed as his dick nestles between Bucky’s legs. His eyes are already open, already taking in his husband’s exquisite beauty; _his_ Sweetheart. Society may have voted for it, yes, but Bucky is his now. His husband; no one else’s. Bucky’s eyes open a second later. Surprise and delight shining in them. 

“C-can we?” He whispers. “N-now?”  
“What should I do differently next time?” Steve asks. Suggestive. Not quite confirming Bucky’s request. Not denying it either. Bucky responds wonderfully to being teased. Lips parting. Eyes drifting somewhere between turned on and pleading. “How can I make it better?”

He’s running his hand over his husband’s head. Deliberately slow; letting fingertips trail lightly all the way down his back. Right to the end of his spine. Skin shivers under his touch and Bucky shakes his head.

“N-nothing…” He breathes. “Just… keep touching me, husband. P-please…”  
“Mm-mm.” Steve takes his hand away. Earns a quiet whimper from his needly little husband. “Not if you can’t talk to me first.” Touches seem to do both to Bucky. Either send him away or pull him back. “Stay with me.”   
“I’m here.” He says. “Okay. I understand.”  
“Good.” Very much good. Steve really doesn’t want to stop. He kisses Bucky’s shoulder. “Now tell me. How can I make it better?”  
“Just… never leave me like that?” His voice shakes. “Brock… he... well I never felt like _that_ but he’d just…”  
“Never.” Steve swears. And just because he can, Steve kisses him. “Okay? I’ll never do that to you.” His hand slips between them as Bucky nods and pulls a quick, broken whimper from his throat. “Is this okay?” He asks after one smooth stroke.  
“Uh-ha.” He nods. Quick and vigorous. Breaths already backing up on him. His left hand grips onto Steve’s shoulder and squeezes. A little too hard, but Steve doesn’t mind. “Oh… Steve… d-don’t stop… please…”

He doesn’t. Steve increases the pressure a bit; makes Bucky gasp quietly by rubbing his thumb gently over the moist tip of his dick. 

Bucky’s voice is starting to grow. Moans coming out. One after the other, quick raspy sounds gradually getting louder and louder. Oh, Steve is going to love getting him home. Where he _can_ let him do this. However, here, where there are ears in rooms and halls all around, it’s better to stifle the sweet, passionate sounds his husband is desperate to make.

“You gotta be quieter than last night, baby.” He murmurs. “Can you do that for me? Can you be quiet?”

Bucky’s entire face is red. The blush spanning down to his neck and splashing across his chest. He nods, unable to look Steve in the eyes and quite unaware just how loud he’d been last night. 

“Hey, look at me.” Bucky’s eyes drift back up to him. Still embarrassed. “I like the sounds you make. Make them. All the time. Just… right now… how about one? Just for me. Right now? Come on, baby, nice and loud.”

Steve tugs hard and twists. Once. And pulls one loud, unrestrained moan from his husband, immediately followed by another blush and Bucky’s burying his face in his shoulder.

“Steve!” He exclaims on a ragged laugh. “I… _oh_ hell… I… shit…”  
“Better?” Steve chuckles. “Got it out of your system?” 

He’s starting to tremble as Steve continues to move his hand. Already Steve knows his tell. Bucky’s losing comprehension, drifting off into the place that Steve doesn’t really understand, but knows he goes to. He rolls him onto his stomach. 

“Okay?”  
“Mmm.” 

There’s a dreamy grin on his husband’s face as he nods, head pillowed on his folded arms. Steve rests his hand between the shape blades of Bucky’s shoulders. A soft sigh rolls over his husband’s lips. A wind of a sound. Right, natural. As though Steve’s touch is what he’s been waiting for his whole life. 

Steve leans over him and kisses down his spine, leaving one strong one at the very base before parting the curves of his muscles and letting his tongue graze just between them. He pauses when Bucky’s breath catches. 

“Still okay?”  
“Yes, yes…” Bucky’s nodding into the mattress, fists gripping tightly the pillows around him. So taken over by desire and want. “Please, Steve.”

Steve grins and licks the pad of his thumb. Presses that against the delicate part of Bucky’s ass, making his husband’s head jerk up for a quick second before falling back down again. He leans his mouth back in. Kisses. Licks. Laps. Bucky tastes like sweat and soap and the lotion Steve used to clean him up with last night. Steve can even taste a bit of himself. 

Bucky’s moaning softly, sounds coming from someplace Steve’s never heard before. Deep, heady noises that sound impulsive and uncontrollable. Steve doesn’t stop. He just plunges deeper, sinking his tongue further in until his chin is messy and Bucky’s shivering under the wetness of his spit and saliva, whining and gasping and trying to form words though the only one Steve can understand is his name that keeps flying off his lips. 

“Steve… oh please… Steve, Steve, please…”

His husband is whining. Pleading even. For what, Steve’s not sure. He moves away from what he’s doing and Bucky’s hole, shiny with Steve’s spit, clenches. Bucky whimpers and panics briefly, clearly sensing Steve’s departure and misinterpreting. Steve places a reassuring hand on his hips. 

“S’okay, baby. I’m here.” He murmurs softly. Comforts. Touches that bring Bucky back. Or keep him settled for now. “Do you need me to stop?”  
He shakes his head. “No. You too.”  
“Me?”  
“Please?”  
“Hey, come back to me, baby.” Steve slips a hand under Bucky’s chin. Takes a gentle grip, but holds him steady. “Just for a minute. Can you talk to me?”

Lip tucked under his teeth and eyes wandering from side to side as though Steve’s suddenly started speaking a language he no longer understands. Bucky takes in a deep breath, gathers some bearings and nods.

“I want you to feel good too, Steve. Please?”  
“Oh.” Steve can feel a slight blush take his cheeks. He leans in and kisses his husband. “I see.” Relief floods Bucky’s face and he relaxes again. Goes pliant against the bedsheets since the pillows have long since been lost to the floor for safe keeping in his fits of pleasure. “I’m going to get inside of you then. Okay?”

Words gone again. Bucky simply nods, eyes focused enough on Steve’s that Steve knows he’s compliant enough to fully agree. He still has that hand on Bucky’s hip and doesn’t need to break away to fetch the jar still on the nightstand. He’s already pretty stretched--still from last night and drenched from just now--but Steve takes a few moments to add a two fingers’ worth just to be sure. 

He tugs at Bucky’s hips when he’s ready, lifts him up a bit and Bucky comes up easily, so very willingly. Steve’s almost lost in amazement. He thinks maybe he’ll need to talk to Bucky later about his past. How he interacted with his previous partners. Steve knows through rumors and talks with others who shared nights with him that Bucky’s a generous lover, but all he’s heard has never indicated he was this compliant, this open and willing. Yet here he is. Molding to Steve’s will, wanting his touch, his care. 

Moving into position, he starts to ease in, pausing, forcing himself not to go any further when all he wants to do his dive in and feel that muscle tight and warmth around him.

“Tell me, Bucky,” He says. “Tell me you want me. Please.”

Bucky’s left hand reaches behind him. Fingers opening and closing, grabbing only air until Steve puts his hand in them and they grip tightly around it. 

“I want you, Steve. My husband. _Mine_. _My_ husband.”  
“Fuck, Bucky…”

He wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist and thrusts home. Pushes in and hears a deep hiss come out of his husband. Not from pain. Or rather, just the right amount of pain. Steve pulls him up closer. He needs to kiss him. To smother shouts Bucky’s not able to hold back anymore with his mouth. To just kiss him because he needs to kiss him. 

Steve’s not going to last. He’s far too close already. Pushing into his marvelous husband, who tastes so wonderful, moves so perfectly, makes the sweetest noises, feels so good, _so so_ good around him. A visible sheen of sweat mixes between Bucky’s back and his chest, making it just a tad easier to slide against him. Steve pushes harder, feels the tightening of his body, every muscle getting ready to explode on the brink of sheer bliss and ultimate pleasure. 

He throws two more thrusts into Bucky, deep, long and hard, grabbing onto his throbbing cock as he does. His husband comes apart around him with a howl into Steve’s mouth, fingers latching through his hair as though holding on for dear life. Steve’s own orgasm follows a heartbeat behind, shattering in thunderous glory to his very core. Heat. Bliss. Absolute elation. 

Their bodies fall forward, Steve managing to keep from collapsing fully onto his husband’s shivering body. Bucky’s still shaking, eyes closed, lips parted, even when Steve eases him back over. 

“Bucky?” Steve tries, hand gently cradled over his cheek. “Hey, Bucky?”

Like last night the only answer he gets is a quiet whimper and a scrunch of his face. Steve presses a kiss into his forehead before pushing off the bed. An attempt to get a warm washcloth again to clean up. Seemed to help last night. Warm touches, light voices, praises. Before he can even get a step away from the bed, there’s a cool, hard hand shackled around his wrist, tight enough it hurts.

Steve glances back into panicked eyes; someone drowning in icy waters. Bucky’s head shakes back and forth. Mouth’s opening, struggling to form words.

“You said…” He chokes out. “You’d stay…”  
“I’m not…” Steve puts a hand over the one around his wrist. “I’m not leaving. I was just…” Tears fill his husband’s eyes. More panic. “Hey, hey. Baby, I’m not leaving.” He gets back into the bed with him. “It’s okay. Better? I was just going to help you clean up, but I won’t go anywhere if that’s what you want. Can you talk?”

Bucky’s eyes are wide and round. His lips fold in and he shakes his head. Then nods it and shakes it again. 

“You don’t want to?”

He smiles.

Steve snickers. “Okay. You don’t have to. What do you want me to do? You want me to hold you?”

Bucky regards him for a moment or two. A reflective look as he thinks upon that suggestion and then nods. Steve pulls back the covers. Though Bucky’s skin is still a bit flushed, he knows that’ll wear off and leave him cold and shivering from more than just the aftermath of sex and sensations and emotions. Bucky wiggles closer and folds into him, legs tangling, skin against skin. That contact he craves so often, so much. Steve rubs his back. Friction for warmth, just to remind him even more that he’s really there.

“You can sleep if you want.” He tells him gently. It’s still early. Those gold beams of sun steadily climbing up the walls. “No one expects us to be up yet.”

Bucky hums contently and snuggles closer. Dozes off a bit. Steve can tell by the moisture that dampens his side. He caresses him the whole time, pressing kisses into his hair when his hand leaves those spots. 

The sun takes its time coming in. Spreading through the room with radiant splendor and splashing gold and warmth across the bed despite the flakes of snow that have started drifting from the wisps of thin clouds in the sky. Steve must sleep, too, since teasing rays have crept up his lap and into his face without him realizing. He wakes with hair in his mouth and chuckles as he lifts his head. Tries not to disturb his sleeping husband, but his movements stir Bucky enough that he makes a sound and rubs at his mouth.

Bucky lifts his head. Drowsy eyes blink twice before a sloppy grin pull up on his lips. 

“Hello.” Steve says. “Feel like talking yet?”  
He smiles more. “If I must.”  
“At least to tell me you’re okay?” Steve chuckles and holds him closer.  
“More than okay.” Bucky offers. “Good. I like the way you make me feel.”  
“And… that’s still… good?” If he can’t talk afterwards, maybe Steve can at least understand a little. “How do you feel?”

Bucky moves away from him now. Hesitant. Slowly as though he doesn’t want to, but needs to in order to gather his thoughts. He pulls his legs up, rests arms over his knees and curls fingers together as his mind plays with words and phrases. 

“It’s like… I’m floating?” He says. Glances over and gives him an impish smirk. “Feels dizzying. Drunk without the drunk part? I don’t know.”  
“And that’s never happened to you before?”  
“Sort of.” Bucky nods. “Not this way though.”   
“Because it’s…” Steve tries, and fails, not to get his hopes up. Doesn’t want to feel his heart shatter if this is only sex to Bucky when it’s so much more to him. “Different? With me? Like you said?”  
“Means something.” Bucky clarifies. He lifts one of Steve’s hands and brings it to his lips. Kisses once, twice, and then nuzzles it against his cheek. “Yes, husband. It means…” The start of an unspoken sentiment. Choked on and swallowed back down. “It’s just different.”

The room smiles around them. Happy noises of a world going on, up and about out in the rest of the rooms. Oblivious to the blissful joy singing through Steve’s body. Bucky must know, as well as he, that the day will be dragging them out of here soon. Minutes soon. Busy day. Supper to be cooked and festivities to attend. A joyous occasion of merriment and pleasant tradition with family and love. One that Steve would happily and quickly ignore this year in favor of spending the rest of the day lost in a dreamworld of bedsheets and sweat, tangled legs and arms, kisses and muffled shouts with his husband. 

He sighs and frowns at Bucky whose expression is a mirrored image of his feelings exactly.

“Do we have to, husband?”   
“I’m afraid so.” He nods and is already scooting out of bed. He heads to the dresser for fresh clothes saying, “We have a lot to do today. It’s your first holiday with the House.” Steve’s suddenly very excited. He gets to share so many new things with Bucky over the next two days. “They’re going to serve a traditional House breakfast, but don’t worry,” He chuckles to himself, “We can have something actually edible. Mom usually puts aside muffins for me. I asked her to add chocolate in them this year.” He’s going through the drawers. Pulls out trousers and a shirt to go with them. “I know you don’t like winter, but there is a pond just outside. We can go ice skating if you’d like. The kids’ll put on a performance after lunch and Dad’ll…”

Steve goes cold at his own mention of his father. He claps a hand over his mouth and spins around. Over on the bed, Bucky smiles for him. Just for him though. It’s not real. No happiness behind the movements of his lips. Yes, Steve’s excited for his first holiday spent with his husband. Completely oblivious to Bucky’s first holiday spent without his father, away from his House.

“Oh…” Steve lowers his hand. Shock rips through him and he slowly shakes his head. “Bucky, oh, Bucky, I’m… I’m…”  
“No, Steve, it’s okay.”  
“No, Bucky!” The clothes fall to the floor and he moves back to the bed. “No, I… here I am, babbling on and on about my House and family and… and this is your, your first year without yours and your father…”  
“It’s okay, Steve,” Steve _might_ believe him if his voice hadn’t cracked slightly. “I’m okay.”

Steve sits down at the edge of the mattress. He feels wretched. Down to the pit of his stomach. Where acid bubbles and boils in painful knotted ties. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

For a moment, it looks at though Bucky is going to say no. They’ve never really talked about Lord Barnes before. Only bits and pieces. Steve knows he drew the House of Barnes’ crest and creed on Bucky’s arm. Knows they were close. But Bucky keeps his family locked close inside of him. Bucky leans forward today. Rests his head upon Steve’s shoulder and Steve wraps an around around him.

“I miss my dad, Steve.” He whispers. “But I don’t want to tell you.”  
Steve rattles his head. “What? Why?”  
“Because I don’t want to scare you.” Bucky peers up at him. There’re tears in his eyes. “I don’t want you to think the pain never goes away. Like I thought. In the beginning.”  
“Oh, Bucky,” Steve cups his chin. “You… you can talk to me about this. It’s okay. You… you don’t have to worry about me. I… have you. Right?”

Bucky sucks in a jagged breath. He nods in answer to Steve’s question. Yes. Steve has him. He’ll be there when this happens. When Steve’s world is shattered in a way that Bucky’s already was. When loss hits and mourning starts, his huband’ll be there to hold him. Pick up the pieces and put him back together again. But for right now…

His husband’s face scrunches and he falls back into his arms. 

“I miss him so much today, Steve.” He weeps. “I-I didn’t realize how much I would.”  
“I know, baby.” Steve sooths. Running a hand down over him. Gentle touches. He’s here for him. Right now. Always. “It’s okay.”  
“I… oh, Steve, I miss my family. I miss my sister. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I… I don’t want to… I don’t mean to hurt you…”  
“Oh, no. Oh, Bucky, you’re not hurting me.” Steve pulls away. Puts hands on his husband’s shoulders and guides him back to look at him. “ _I’m_ sorry. Okay? I’m sorry that… that this had to happen so fast for you. That… any of this happened.”  
“Don’t be sorry for me, husband. Please?” Bucky sniffles and dries his eyes. “I really am okay. I… I’m… happy with you. I _am_.”

How? How can he possibly be happy with him? In a marriage he didn’t want? And when did he decide this was a good thing? These are all the things Steve wants to know. _Needs_ to know maybe. One day. When Bucky no longer woke up bitter towards a world that had him married to Steve Rogers. When indifference turned to contentment. When contentment turned to happiness. 

“Bucky?”  
“Yes, Steve?”  
“I’m happy, too,” He tells him. “Just… in case you didn’t know.”

Bucky lights up with a smile and Steve thinks, horribly, painfully, that Bucky really didn’t know that. 

“Thank you, Steve. For taking me. For being so good to me. For being patient with me. I… I’ve not been easy. I know others wouldn’t have been so tolerant; wouldn’t have… put up with my behavior. So… thank you for letting me be me. Letting me… grieve? Just… thank you for being you.”

~~

Steve looks at him like he has it all wrong. As though Bucky’s some sort of shooting star whose fallen from the heaven’s themselves. Stardusted and goldtipped. Even after nearly four months of marriage Bucky still can’t figure his dear husband out. 

“I have a proposal for you, my Sweetheart.” He says.

Bucky’s heartaches. It does. He can’t help it. This is a day of good times and laughs. Family traditions. Rebecca should be at his side right now and Mother should be insisting that they stop fooling around while trying not to laugh and Father should be standing behind her encouraging it all. Their bit of family should be arriving shortly and the day will be commencing in it’s normal, orderly fashion. 

Instead, Father is buried in the cold, frozen earth. Mother and Rebecca are miles and miles away. Bucky is here. In the House of Rogers’ farmhouse. With a man he truly loves with all his heart, and he’s still in pain and he hates the pain. Damns it to the deepest circles of all the hells in existence for ever surfacing after such a magical start of a day. 

“What is your proposal, husband?” He answers his Best Catch. Tries his hardest to keep things as normal as possible.   
“We shower. Together. But you can stay in as long as you like?” He offers. Steve runs a gentle hand over his head. It feel as nice as usual and Bucky leans into the comfort. “You take as much time as you need. Also, I’ll… have something for you?”  
“Hm. There’re those five favorite words, husband. Strange though. Are you breaking House tradition for me?”

Bucky’s teasing. He has to in order to keep himself light and airy. He’s not going to ruin this time for Steve. The last Christmastide holiday he gets to spend with his mother. If he had any idea last year would have been his last one with his father he’d have done something, anything to have made it special. A time to stand out in his memories above others. 

“You have no idea, my Sweetheart.” Steve chuckles.  
“Wait… Steve, you’re…”  
“Come on.” He interrupts as he rises to his feet again, this time bringing Bucky with him. “I, at the very least, should hurry up. You can take your time.”

Steve washes him in the shower. Carefully. Tender touches of the wash cloth moving over sensitive skin. His husband tells him he enjoys taking care of him. Wants to do it whenever he’ll let him. Bucky rests his head against Steve’s wet chest when he rinses his back off and doesn’t bother to tell him that he’s starting to crave his care. 

He does, however, say, “You’re going to let me take care of you, too, husband.”

It’s not a request, though he does worry that perhaps his boldness might be bordering a bit on the side of disrespectful as of late. He peers up, eyes wide, expression sheepish. Finds himself staring into a pair of assessing eye. Steve’s eyebrows flick up.

“Um… I…” He whispers.  
Steve runs his fingers though Bucky’s wet hair. “I am still your headship, Bucky. And you did say you didn’t want to change that?”  
“No.” He says, head resting against Steve’s chest again. “I don’t. M’sorry, Steve.”  
“It’s alright. I just thought I should remind you.” He kisses the top of his head. And then kisses two more times in two different spots before bringing lips to his ear. He kisses his lobe, nibbles once before saying, “And I want you to take care of me, too, baby. Okay?”

Bucky sighs a smile. Wraps arms around Steve’s waist and secures them there until Steve’s ready to get out. He doesn’t stay in all that longer, even if a part of him wishes that the two of the could remain there forever. Away from everything else. A blissful little slice of paradise. Eventually this magic will end. Fairytale’ll be over and the real world will snatch them back into its mean and harsh grip. 

Breakfast is just as rowdy and noisy as all other times for the House of Rogers. Seems they never take a break. Even something as simple as passing orange juice turns out to cause quite the ruckus. Bucky doesn’t mind. They make him laugh, go out of their way to make him feel welcome, and it’s a little easier to forget to be upset about missing his family. 

Steve was right, too. About the House breakfast. Bucky’s not quite sure _what_ they’re eating, but it doesn’t look particularly appetizing. Once again, Sarah is a saving grace and presents those who don’t wish to consume the rather inedible looking meal with a basket of muffins. She pats his shoulder as she hands him one with big chunks of chocolate. Offers a happy wink and even flicks Steve in the ear. 

“Ah! Hey!” he whines. “What was that for?”  
“Preemptive.” She tells him. “Don’t do anything to embarrass your husband today.”

His cheeks fill with a blush and, ignoring all proper table manners, Steve tosses his elbows up and buries his face. While being scolded, and having a few cloth napkins tossed in his direction, Sarah seems to grab the opportunity. A quick moment that she doesn’t want to let go by without wrapping Bucky in for a hug.

“Thank you,” She whispers into his ear. “Thank you for being here with him, Bucky. He needs you.” 

Bucky only has seconds to give her an affectionate squeeze back. No time to respond in order not to draw attention to them. Sarah is already standing up straight again by the time anyone looks at them. Nothing has slowed or quieted, but they’ve had a piece of time together that no one knows about. Their own private moment done and over with, locked away and shared between new son and mother--forever theirs. 

And it means the world to Bucky knowing that Sarah believes his husband truly needs him. He’s grinning to himself as he leans into Steve a bit. Steve’s mouth is stuffed full of bran muffin when he turns his head. His lips pull up in a big smile anyway. Bucky laughs. He’s going to make this day good for Steve. They’ll go skating on that pond Steve mentioned if that’s what he’d like. Steve enjoys the outdoors, even in the cold. Bucky’ll be happy to venture out in the cold if Steve’ll warm him up again. He has a feeling Steve knows many different ways to warm him up. 

Which has him blushing without even realizing it. Even more so when Steve takes hold of his hand under the table. Bucky wants to give him a kiss. He’s not sure if that would be appropriate, here at the breakfast table surrounded by a huge chunk of the House of Rogers. 

He doesn’t get a chance to contemplate more on the idea of kissing him anyway. The bell outside the front door is ringing. The only sound in the world that can apparently cause this family to quiet down in a matter of seconds. A mere heartbeat of a moment, the bell’s been tugged on twice, and the entire table’s fit to attend Chapel. 

Eyes move about the room, excited anticipation stirring about, and for a moment, Bucky wonders if perhaps Steve’s forgotten to tell him about some House tradition. Only a collective whisper hushes around the children. They’re just as confused as Bucky. It’s Joseph that gets up to see to the door. 

“Close your eyes.”

Bucky rattles his head when he realizes that Steve’s addressing him.

“What?”  
“I said close your eyes.” He repeats. “I had to have one of your gifts delivered. That should be it. But…” Steve smiles. Warm and touching. “I don’t want you to see and have the surprise ruined. So…” He runs fingers over Bucky’s eyes. “Keep them closed.”

He does as he’s told. Keeps eyes hidden behind the blackness of his lids despite the stifled giggles coming from around the table. 

“Are you peeking?” Steve teases. “I believe you’re cheating.”  
“I am not!” Bucky laughs.  
“I don’t trust you.”

There’re hands wrapping around his wrists and Bucky almost, _almost_ , opens his eyes to look down. Steve lifts his hands. Makes him place them in front of his face. The children laugh even more.

“Steve!” Bucky whines. “I feel like a child.”  
Steve is chuckling, too. “Listen to your husband, Bucky. And just humor me. It’s only for a few minutes.”

He sighs into his palms. Fighting back a smile and shakes his head but otherwise leaves his hands right where they are. No matter. It’s only a minutes or so until Steve is telling him the coast is clear.

“Are you _sure_ , husband?” Bucky huffs. Light, playful. Unable to keep the starshine out his voice. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of _cheating_ or anything of the kind.”  
“Hm.” Uh oh. He can hear that mischievous hitch in his husband’s voice. “You sure are pushing your luck, my Sweetheart.”

The fingers in his sides catch Bucky by such surprise he jerks forward and lets out a high-pitched, rather embarrassing squeaked.

“Oh no! Steve, please, no!” He bubbles up laughing. Squirms and wiggles about as Steve tickles him a little more. “I’m sorry!” 

Steve’s chuckling by his ear. Bucky knows that chuckle. Deep and happy, but… guarded. Having wrapped his limbs tightly around his body in an attempt to shield himself from any further tickling, Bucky lifts his head. Finds his husband watching him, his expression nervous and anxious. Eyebrows pulled in, he strokes Steve’s cheek, hoping to unwind those knots tied by secrets now causing him worry.

“What is it, husband?” He whispers. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t need to answer. The source of Steve’s anxieties catches Bucky’s eye. Out by the head of the table and all at once everything is too hot and too cold. Bucky can’t breathe after the first broken gasp. Can’t think beyond the flood of tears that spills over his eyes. He doesn’t understand. How? How can this…

“S-Steve? Husband…”

Limbs trembling, Bucky’s not even sure if the words have come out. There’re hands on him, Steve’s he thinks, warm and safe, comforting him as he falls into some sort of breakdown from the unexpected warmth and love that’s hit him. 

“Okay. It’s okay, baby.” Steve soothes, running fingers through his hair, pulling him into his arms. “It’s okay.”  
“But I don’t… understand…”  
“I wanted to give you something nice for Christmastide.” He murmurs. Sweet and timid, wiping tender fingers under his eyes to rid Bucky of the endless tears. “Come.” Steve rises to his feet. Brings Bucky with him and eases him on shaky legs. “I’ll help you over.”

The help is needed very much so. Even more than it was that first time visiting here. When Bucky was filled with champagne and fear. The overwhelming emotion he feels today, right now, it’s indescribable, filling him to the brim with such raw joy he can only grab onto his mother and sister to pull them into a hug the moment they’re within reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!!! Happy Friday! Okay, so some of you may have noticed on tumblr that I hadn't planned on updating this week. Things have been hectic and rough in my life and I was going to take a break this week to try to ease my mind and catch up. But then I got a very lovely message and I couldn't _not_ post something. So I decided to end this chapter here and, even though I want to keep the cliffhanger chapters with mostly double updates, given life circumstances that just isn't possible this week. That being said, I sincerely hope you enjoyed what I was able to put up today! 
> 
> Anyone in the North East, hope the snow didn't treat you too bad! 
> 
> And of course, here's some lovely gifs:
> 
> We'll start with Bucky when talking to Steve about missing his family
> 
> At breakfast noticing his mother and sister
> 
> And hugging Rebecca
> 
> Then we have Steve when Bucky's being a bit of a smart ass at breakfast
> 
> And as Bucky's realizing that his family is there
> 
> Last but not least some happy morning sexy times
> 
> So there you have it! Hope you enjoyed! Also, my apologies for the slow responses to all the wonderful comments I've received in the past week. As I've said, things have just been hectic, but I do appreciate each and every one of them and I'm doing my best to answer them! :)


	23. Oooooh. I have nothing witty. So here's a pretty anticipated ((I think)) chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **small trigger warnings for this chapter ((little spoilish)): subtle descriptions of amputation, childhood near death experience, reliving past trauma, and hypothermia.**

“Mother? Rebecca?” Bucky shakes in their embrace. A leaf in autumn just barely holding on that last bit of strength. “I don’t understand.”

Rebecca’s crying. Unable to answer. Winifred is holding in tears. A respectable lady of Society who doesn’t show her emotions. Raised right and proper, she’ll present herself decently.

Yet there’s a hitch in her voice when she says, “Your husband invited us, James.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed. Wants so badly to fall into Steve’s arms, but doesn’t want to leave where he is right now. Afraid that maybe they’ll disappear if he steps away for even the briefest moments. Become just a figment of his imagination, his heart desiring them to be there with him so strongly it conjured them up for him. 

This is unheard of. Not the way things are done. Bucky belongs to Steve and the House of Rogers now. The House Barnes, Winifred and Rebecca, they shouldn’t be here. They’re here just the same. Arms still wrapped tightly around him as though the same fears are running through them as well. One wrong word and rumors of spitting in the face of custom and tradition can be smeared on the House of Barnes’ good name. Unable to let go and part ways. Start their news lives the way they’re supposed to.

“Bucky?” 

He lifts his head to look at Joseph. He and Sarah are standing with Steve just a few feet away.

“As head of the House of Rogers, I’d like to extend a permanent invitation to your immediate family from the House of Barnes to all our holidays.”

“But…” Bucky sucks in a deep breath. The floor feel so unsteady beneath his feet. “But I don’t… belong to the House Barnes anymore. This isn’t… done.”

“That may be.” Sarah says. “In Society’s eyes. But the way we see it,” She takes Joseph’s hand, “Marriage can be a way to bring two families together. We may have to act one way in public, but… these are times for love and family. You were close with yours. And it’s not right to cut you off from them so completely. So perhaps, next year, and it’s up to everyone involved, you and Steve would like to spend Christmastide with the House of Barnes.”

His husband, his headship, who is entirely in charge of such a decision, is smiling as though he’s already agreed without discussion. All Bucky needs to do now is ask. The answer is yes. Yes, next year they can spend Christmastide in the House of Barnes’ penthouse in the Upper West Side.

The sobbing comes on quite unexpectedly. Hard and heavy, Bucky’s throat hurts and his heart feels much too big for his chest to contain. The House of Rogers, here, watching with happy faces and warm, welcoming smiles are all in favor of this. None of them, not one person here is against the idea of breaking away from tradition, of shying away from Societal norms if that’s what Steve chooses to do for Bucky. They’ll be the ones to address the situation if it comes up. If anyone questions the House of Barnes’ presence here today, each and everyone of them will stand by his family and make sure no harm comes to their reputation. And all Bucky can think about is how much he dreaded this marriage. How he didn’t want it. How only a few months ago he would have done anything to prevent it. 

He’s now quite sure that would have been the gravest mistake of his entire life.

Sarah says something. Sounds like she might be instructing Steve to take Bucky and his mother and sister to another room. But Steve is already moving forward before she can complete the suggestion. Puts his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and is guiding him and his family down the hall towards the winding stairs. 

The climb up them is grueling. A lot more difficult for a simple flight of steps with shaky legs and weakened lungs. Steve’s whispering things to him. Words of comfort that ghost along his heart and all Bucky can do is cling on to him until they reach the sitting room. 

Both Winifred and Rebecca have stepped aside, leaving it up to Steve, the proper thing to do, to open the double doors. There’s a silver serving tray all set up with tea waiting for them. It’s a happy looking set. Teapot tall rather than round and bulbous, cream colored with light blue trimmings. There’s only one problem.

Bucky glances up at Steve. Whispers, “There’re only three settings.” Steve nods. “But… are you not staying, husband?”

“Spend some time with your mother and sister, Bucky.” He tells him. “Come back down when you’re ready.”

He’s going to ask to kiss him. Bucky can see the question on his face, in the ocean waves of his sunlit eyes. Only the question fades and is replaced with the happy memory that he no longer needs to ask. Steve just kisses him. Warm and holding in it all the tenderness Bucky’s ever felt. Bucky’s slightly dazed when Steve moves away, not saying a word, and shutting the doors behind him. 

Bucky misses him already; the very second the doors latch close and seal a barrier between them. Clicking loud and almost mean. As if Steve thinks there’s some reason he should be locked away to share time with his family. Or rather, that Steve believes he’s not worthy to be part of this time shared with his family. Bucky’s not sure which is worse. 

_Neither_. His arms say. _He just wanted to give you time. Because…_  
 _Oh…_ Bucky remembers what he can do now. And he turns. _My sister…_

“Rebecca…”

She’s right behind him. Smiling. Ear to ear. Tears in her eyes, waiting for him and the hug he hasn’t properly given. He smiles back and opens his arms. She moves forward and steps into his hug, and Bucky wraps her up, smiles more and feels like maybe the day is complete. Maybe. Not whole. Not without his father. Without George to light up his cigars and offer Rebecca dances and wine while Winifred tells him, with an adoring twinkle in her eye, how inappropriate it would be for her to have wine at her age. Without George there to pour Bucky brandy and light up with laughter as the liquor warms through them all. 

But they’re here. His mother. His sister. His husband. His… his new House even. All of them. They’re all here. Bucky’s not alone.

“I’ve missed you.” Rebecca whispers. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”

She’s crying again. It just makes Bucky hug her tighter. Feels as though maybe he can still do something for her as her brother. Because Steve has allowed him to keep his family. 

“I’ve missed you, too.” He sighs. “Rebecca, did you take the train?”

“We did!” Cheer laces her voice. Takes over and dries her tears. She pulls away and lights up with a smile. “Oh, Bucky, it was so much fun! We had our own car and we had breakfast on it and everything!”

“I saw cows.” He tells her.

“We did, too!” She exclaims. “Mother, right? We saw cows? Oh! And horses.”

Winifred nods. “We did. Though I don’t know why the horses excite you so. You ride your own.”

Bucky laughs. Loops arms with his sister and guides her over to the couch. He waits for his mother to take a seat in the armchair across from it to sit himself. 

“Are you really learning how to cook, Bucky?” Rebecca wants to know not a moment after she’s seated. 

He chuckles and takes to pouring them both a cup of tea. “Yes. I’ve learned how to do laundry and polish silverware, too. None are particularly appealing, but I like cooking the best.”

“Why?”

A blush creeps into his cheeks. Warms his face and Bucky hides it by taking a sip of his tea. 

“Um. Well, I like to see my husband’s face. If… to see if he likes it or not.”

“What do you _do_ with him?” She whispers. 

A laugh has him almost spitting out his tea. She’s not talking about in the bedroom. Not at all. Though hardly naive to such topics about sex, even if Bucky would rather crawl across hot coals on his belly than think about his little sister and sex, Rebecca’s currently more interested in Bucky’s day-to-day life. She’s not asking about ruffled sheets and worked mattresses.

“We… well, we talk. A lot actually.” The thought has him smiling. Has him in the sitting room back at Steve’s. At… _home_? Fire roaring. Steve’s arms wrapped around him as they talk about their day or days past as they still learn about one another. “He likes when I read to him. And I’m teaching him how to sign. He’s supposed to teach me French, but…” Bucky trails off and grins. Steve speaking French, just the thought, has his mind floating towards moonlit skies. “Um… he hasn’t. I think maybe he’s changed his mind. Might teach me German instead. And I… sometimes I play for him.”

He almost doesn’t tell them that. It comes out rather soft and hesitant. But it’s been so long, such a lost, forgotten part of Rebecca’s life that Bucky ever even _touched_ a piano let alone played one, that she’s genuinely baffled by his statement.

“Play what?”

He answers his half-empty teacup. “Piano.”

His sister’s eyes go wide. “He… made you…”

“Oh no!” Bucky swiftly rids himself of the teacup and saucer. Leaving it teetering at the edge of the low marble table next to them. It tries to catch it, to keep the items safely there and not crash to the floor, but Bucky needs to help it out at the last second. “No, Steve, he didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. I played for him. I wanted to. For him. For Steve. Um, that, I mean…”

“Wow.” Rebecca saves him from his own incoherency. “After all this time, Lord Rogers was the one--”

“Steve.” He corrects. Rebecca looks at him. Isn’t sure what he means. “He wouldn’t want you to call him Lord Rogers. You can call him Steve.”

“Really?” She wraps a lock of her soft brown hair around her finger. Twirling shiny hairs in ways that Mother usually scolds for. “Even though he’s of higher status?”

“Yes. Steve doesn’t… he… well he may have been born with privilege but he… doesn’t take that for granted?” 

Bucky’s not sure if he’s saying this right. How Steve uses his status for good and doesn’t expect to be thanked in return. Doesn’t expect anything in return. How Steve knows, even more so than Bucky, the pressures and hardships of being different in the eyes of Society. Of working to prove to all those around him, to himself, that he was more than what people saw. 

He says, “Steve just… wants to be Steve. No one else. Just Steve.”

Not seen as that sick little kid who couldn’t do much without needing help. A springtime sapling easily crushed under the heavy weights of winter snow. Not seen as a symbol of influence and power. A name meant to do things expected of him rather than what he feels is right. 

Just Steve. That’s who his husband wants to be.

“I heard that…” Rebecca’s eyes drift to his left shoulder. It’s covered by long sleeves right now, but Bucky knows what she’s getting at. “Did you? Is it true?” 

Bucky takes a deep breath and nods. “Yes. A… a few weeks ago.” 

He still has trouble looking at it. At the empty spot on his arm where his House’s creed once stood out bright and proud against folded plates of silver. It’s gotten easier and it helps when Steve’s words echo through his head. His arm. It’s his. 

“Are you okay? Dad…”

“I’m okay.” He tells her. Doesn’t need her to remind him who painted it on his arm in the first place. The memory is loud and clear. “Steve helped. He was there for me the whole time.”

“He seems sweet. Your husband.”

“He is. Very sweet. I…” He can’t tell her that he loves him. It wouldn’t be fair to say the words to anyone before he finds the courage to say them to Steve. “I like him very much. But you must have known he was sweet. He asked you here, did he not?”

“Oh I didn’t know until yesterday.” Rebecca beams. A smile quick and soft as a drop of rain. “Mother kept it a secret.”

Which is quite unlike her. Winifred has secrets that she wouldn’t share with anyone and things she wouldn’t keep to herself for all they were worth. Bucky thought she’d have prepared Rebecca for a visit here, with a House of such high status. 

She’s sitting quietly though. Sipping her tea and just watching Bucky and Rebecca as they make conversation as though her presence means nothing. For a moment, Bucky feels bad. A fleeting emotion since it washes away when he gets a good look at her. The way she’s watching them right now, it’s as though she’s experiencing their presence for the first time. There’s a tiny grin twitched up on her lip. Tears pricking the corners of her eyes. But she looks content. 

“When did… how long did you know you were coming, Mother?” He asks.

“Two weeks ago.” She dabs at her eyes. Keeps her emotions in check. “Your headship wrote to me. Invited us. I, well, I was nervous of course, but I thought it improper to decline an invitation from a House so above my own.” Her eyes fall when she whispers, “Of course, how could I say no?”

Winifred’s hand reaches out and lands softly upon Bucky’s. She squeezes once and Bucky understands the words she can’t bring herself to say. Not without losing that carefully held poise. Ingrained upon her by her former House, who she hasn’t seen in private company since marrying his father, and Society like an unchangeable fingerprint. She’s here for him and only him. 

“Thank you for coming.” He murmurs. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

When she glances back up, Winifred’s eyes are wet with tears. Moisture dampens her lashes. Morning dew whispered upon thin blades of grass in early wisps of sunlight. 

“I should have sold things.” She whispers. “Paintings. Silverware. Dresses…”

“Mother? What?”

One tear slips out. Rolls silently down her cheek before she quickly wipes it away.

“I’m sorry, James.” She says. Wipes at her eyes again though no other tears of betrayed her. “Bucky, I’m so sorry. I have things we could have sold. I… maybe I could have…”

“Mom,” Bucky takes her hands. Understands what she means. “No. You know that would have done nothing but delayed the inevitable.”

“I never groomed you for this life. It wasn’t supposed to be like this for you. Even if selling off our things only delayed it, I could have helped you get used to the idea or…”

“But if we hadn’t had the wedding then…”

Bucky can’t bring himself to say it. Nausea rolls over him at just the thought. If they had waited, which, four months ago was Bucky’s greatest desire, a wish fulfilled, then perhaps Steve would have courted someone else in the meantime. He might not have been an eligible suitor. May have even been engaged to someone. Maybe Sam Wilson. Someone he actually loves. 

Ice runs through his veins. Leaves Bucky cold and shivering with the unexpected thought of a loss that never even happened. 

“If we waited then my husband…” He shakes his head. Gulps the statement back down and decides for a question instead. “Mother, why did you pick Steve?”

“Why?” She blinks the rest of her tears away. “Why did I pick him? Well, your sister and I…” Rebecca places her hand on Bucky’s back. “We went through all the responses and only two of them were personal. Your headship’s, well his was kind, believable. I thought if someone would treat you well it would be him.” Winifred pauses and shows a little more emotion. Concern pulling in the lines of her brow. “He does treat you well, doesn’t he? Bucky?”

“Oh yes, Mother.” He nod. Feels warmth pulse through him. A smile pulls up on his lips. Steve. His husband. “He treats me very well.”

His mother smiles back. “You look happy, Bucky. James, are you happy?”

Gradually. Then suddenly. All at once. Without Bucky even realizing it. Happiness softly drifting upon him like the soft flakes of snow dancing out of the thick clouds in the sky. 

“I am, Mother. Steve, my husband, he makes me happy.”

“You looked it,” Rebecca tells him. “In the interview you did. I know you can talk to reporters, but,” She flings her arms around him. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright, Bucky. My hero.”

Bucky flinches, but doesn’t respond to that last part. He just hugs her back and tries not to cry again.

“And you’re okay? Rebecca? Mom?” He looks at both of them. “The dowry? And the stipends? It’s enough…”

“You’ve no need to worry about us.” Winifred assures him. “We’re okay. Rebecca’s doing well in her studies and the debt is being paid. The House’s name is well cared for.”

That’s good. Very good. His family is safe. Protected and well-taken care of because Steve Rogers said yes to their proposal. And they’re here. With him on this first holiday in a year of losses and unexpected gain. All because his husband has granted him such a luxury; the unheard of right to keep his family in his life after marrying up into another House. 

Bucky wipes a tear from his eye. Asks his sister how school is.

“There was a dance at school, Bucky.” Rebecca says. “Boys and girls were allowed to go _together_.”

She’s excited about it, though Bucky doubts, and by the slight pull in Winifred’s eyebrows it’s confirmed, that Rebecca had been given permission to attend with a partner. 

“Really?” He asks. A sinking feeling pulls through him as he realizes he’s missed so much and, despite the House of Rogers’ blessed leniency, will continue missing. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Oh yes, very much. You know, I can dance better than anyone in my class? That’s because of you. Everyone wanted to know if Society’s Sweetheart taught me how and I was sure to let them know that my brother could dance circles around all of them there.”

Like Bucky, Rebecca goes on and on when she’s excited about something. She tells him about the dance, how all the girls asked about him and that they _still_ all have crushes on him. According to Rebecca, the article has spurred a whole new round of adolescent interest in him _and_ Steve.

“He’s even _more_ handsome in person, Bucky!” She exclaims. She’s met him before--their announcement and wedding rehearsal and wedding. They hardly count. Rushed times the first two and she was never really in his company at their wedding. “Everyone would be so jealous if they knew I got to meet Society’s Best Catch.”

She starts to gush about Steve then. About always wanting to meet him properly, about how sweet he seems, and funny he is in interviews. 

“Rebecca, do you have a crush on my husband?” Bucky laughs.

Her entire face turns bright red. She stumbles over a few _no, what? How could you…?_

“James, don’t tease your sister.” 

Winifred flicks her eyebrows up, an amused purse pulling up on her lips. Just like there would be if they were playing around at home.

They go on to speak about Bucky and what he and Steve have done together. Rebecca asks about the club opening and if he’s seen his friends. Bucky tells her that he doesn’t mind having Steve not only as his husband, but his headship as well. He can’t help but notice a bit of relief loosen upon his mother’s shoulders when he says this. He talks about Truvie and goes on to explain some of the House of Rogers’ customs that he’s learned. The rambling starts when he begins to gush about how understanding Steve’s been. The sweet gestures he’s done; carrying him over the threshold after that first blowout, the gifts of chocolate, taking him out that night to the club, hugs and kisses. 

After a bit of time, one of them, Rebecca, he thinks, brings up last Christmastide. When their father ended up tangled in their popcorn string as he attempted to put the star up on their tree. They laugh at the memory, and this simply prompts more and more talks about the past. Riding lessons, and family outings, trips to the theater--Mother always loved going to the theater--art showings and long ago play times at home. 

In these talks, Winifred lights up. Through sips of tea and quiet laughs, she adds her own fond memories. Some of which Bucky would be much too young to recall. George bouncing him on his knee, piggyback rides, the time he apparently tossed a plate of mushed up vegetables at his back when the nanny wasn’t looking. Apparently, Rebecca only allowed _him_ to brush her hair without screaming. Bucky remembers the yelling. Remembers how annoyed he used to be at Rebecca’s very presence. He brings this up and Winifred laughs.

“Oh yes, you two were like night and day when you were younger.” She says. “Your father used to have to put you in separate rooms all the time. Gave your nannies the worst of headaches.”

“What?” Rebecca sounds thoroughly confused. Memories of these having escaped her. “Why?

“I used to steal your toys.” Bucky admits. “Because you tried to play with mine.”

“You did?”

Winifred chuckles. “Oh yes, he did. I think Bucky was jealous when we brought you home. After almost seven years of being an only child he wasn’t quite ready to share the spotlight.” She smiles to herself. A ray of warmth hidden behind unsharing trees. “Your father cried for you both the days your were born. He loved his family with every ounce of his heart.”

“But I… Mother, I don’t remember ever fighting with Bucky.” 

“Well that’s because you were young. You two got closer when you grew older.”

She looks back at Bucky with a pleasant grin. Stars shining in her eyes as she takes hold of his hand. 

“I guess after you became my hero.”

A spasm shoots up Bucky’s spine. Makes his limbs shake with the undeserved praise.

“Rebecca, please,” Bucky whispers. “Please don’t call me that.”

“But it’s true, Bucky.” She sighs. Ever annoyed at his reluctance to accept her compliment. “You saved my life that day.”

Bucky can only stare at her. A young lady now. No longer that little girl who used to bother and pester him. Who whined and cried over everything. Who never left him alone and wanted to tag along _everywhere_ he went. Not that little girl lost and buried in snow. Icy winds tombing her into a place she couldn’t escape. 

Taking a glance at the clock on the mantle, Bucky realizes they’ve been here for a little over an hour. 

“Steve says there’s a pond nearby.” His throat is tight with guilt that’s never left. Words painful to speak at the moment. “We can go skating if you like.”

The particularly uncomfortable conversation drops at that suggestion. Her eyes light up and she whips her gaze to their mother. She still needs her permission.

“Oh can we, Mother? Is it okay?”

“Of course it is.” 

“Yes, Bucky! Please!” She’s excited. Already hopping to her feet and dragging Bucky to his. “You don’t mind? Truly?”

“No.” He’s happy just to make her happy. “I don’t mind. Come on. I’ll go ask my husband.”

She giggles as Bucky leads the way to the door. Winifred right behind them. The sounds of the House of Rogers’ morning celebration hit them the very second the door is opened. Bucky snickers. 

“Mother?” As they make their way back downstairs. There’s one thing that’s been poking at his mind since she said it. “Who was the other suitor that responded personally?”

“Oh. Um, Lord Rumlow. He wrote back, but you said no to him.” She answers. “So I didn’t even give him consideration.” 

Brock. Of course. Bucky should have known. 

***

The rest of the day turns out to be so much better than Bucky could have ever imagined. As with him, the House of Rogers welcomes his mother and sister with open arms. They’re immediately sucked into the rambunctious ways of his new House. Even Winifred seems to adopt some of their laidback ways. She sits on a fallen tree with some of Steve’s relatives as they go ice-skating.

The pond isn’t far. Only about five minutes of walking. The snow might make it a little longer. The House apparently stocks plenty supplies for winter activities since there was a trunk full of blades. Steve had been all too excited to help him and Rebecca find a pair that’ll fit right over their boots. He’s nervous with Rebecca. Bucky can tell. Steve’s been falling over sentences and trying to keep his hands out of fists. 

“It’s okay, husband.” He chuckles when they’re at the edge of the pond. “You don’t need to worry about my sister. I think she has a crush on you anyway.”

Steve smiles and pulls his scarf up, likely trying to hide the blush that’s already crept in deep enough to see before he hides. 

“You’re not helping.” He mutters. “And she’s important to you. They’re your family.”

“I know. They like you.” Bucky assures him. 

He looks around quickly to make sure no one is paying attention to them. His mother has been easily pulled into a conversation by Steve’s two aunts. She’s smiling politely and keeping in harder laughs than she’s letting come out. Still holding onto her proper upbringing even though those around her have laughs that are unrestrained and wholehearted. Rebecca is already on the pond, skating with Steve’s cousins. Holding hands with two of them and giggling so hard her cheeks are bright red. 

Once he’s sure their moment is as private as it might get, Bucky throws his arms around his husband. Steve teeters a bit, unprepared to be rocked off balanced like that with skating blades strapped to his boots.

“Hello.” He chuckles. Wraps arms around him, too. “Are you okay?”

“I am, Steve.” Bucky murmurs into his side. “Thank you. For this. For everything. I can never repay you for such a gift.”

“You don’t have to.” Steve assures him. Adding, what he can of a kiss, through the layers of bundled up winter clothing wrapped around Bucky. “I wanted to give you something nice.”

“But, I, Steve, I hope this Christmastide is special to you. If I had known last year that…”

“Bucky?” 

The quick interruption makes him stutter a bit. Bucky looks up at his husband. There’re tears in his eyes. Sparkling in the sun like the snow around them. 

“Husband? Oh, please, don’t cry. I’m sorry if I upset you…”

“No, Bucky, you didn’t upset me. It’s just, Bucky, I couldn’t ask for a better Christmastide in the face of everything. Having you here. With me. And knowing that you’re even happier with your family and that my mother got to be here for it. It makes everything as perfect as it can be.”

Still curled up in each others’ arms, Bucky sighs happily into his husband’s side. Out on the ice, a rush of laughter and carefree voices comes at them on a chilly wind. Bucky lifts his head to watch his sister and Steve’s cousins as they glide along the frozen pond. Their skates leave marks along the ice, etching in and staking claim of a happy day. 

“Would you like to join them, husband?” Bucky asks. “Or did we just come as spectators?”

“Oh. Yes. I should warn you,” Steve is inching them both closer to the ice itself. Slow and cautious. “I like skating. It’s just that…”

It’s just that Steve’s not very good. Thick legs made out of rubber that wobble and shake back and forth. He clings onto Bucky who, although enjoying the warm indoors during the winter months, is able to maintain some sort of air of dignity and grace while on skates. But Bucky is no miracle worker and between Steve’s gooey legs and every-so-often flailing arms, they both end up falling all over one another. Multiple times. Fits of laughter every fall. Every hard hit onto the ice. Backwards, forwards, to the side into a big snowbank. 

Bucky laughs so hard his sides heart. Steve, face red and holding back the same laughter, lobs snow at him. Of course, Bucky tosses some back. Which leads to them rolling around in it for a moment before Bucky ends up pinned under Steve. Snow gets in Bucky’s face, up his nose, in his mouth, probably in his ears, and his husband leans in and presses his lips to several spots on his skin.

“I’ll keep you warm.” He whispers. “You know that, right?”

Bucky reaches up and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. He pulls him in closer. Feels the warmth that comes off of him touching every bit of his body. Only Bucky _isn’t_ cold. Not now anyway. He’s warm. Inside, outside. All over. A sundrenched morsel surrounded by every evidence of winter. 

“I do, husband. Steve.” Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek. “I know that. I believe you.”

“I… Bucky, I…” Steve stares down at him. Unspoken thoughts that make his eyes glitter like moonlight held in by something else. “I…”

His heart is pounding. Steve’s too. It’s not that Bucky can feel it between all the thick layers of clothes, but he can sense it. In the way Steve’s eyes have gone wide. The flush of his skin. And a quiver in his lip. 

“Yes?” Bucky can barely hear his own voice over the pounding in his ears. Excitement. Hopes. Nerves. All forming one intangible thought. “Steve?”

Steve’s mouth opens, sucking in a deep breath first. Before a single world, syllable, even sound can come out, someone is plopping down next to them. The breath comes out on a hard exhale and both Bucky and Steve turn to see Rebecca.

“I never thought I’d see the day!” She squeaks. Happily excited to be ignorantly stumbling upon a private moment. “Lord Rogers, Steve, I mean, you got my brother to play in the _snow_!”

Bucky grunts. “Rebecca! Go away!”

He sounds like a child. Petulant and whiny. He knows he does, even more so when Steve glances down at him, eyebrows up, and laughs. For just one moment, Bucky’s forgotten. Forgotten that when these days are over the world will take his mother and sister back from him again. 

“Oh, I, I’m sorry.” Rebecca murmurs. Cheeks warming with a blush. “I hardly meant to interrupt. I didn’t realize.”

She starts to get up, lifting herself out of the snow to leave them be. On this day, when Bucky’d wished for her presence more than almost anything and he’s gone and snapped at her. 

“Aw, Rebecca, wait!” He groans and picks himself up. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way.”

She’s still blushing. Embarrassed by what’s just happened. Forgetting that her brother is married and that he was with his husband when she came over. Her head is shaking from side to side, her attempt at apologizing again without coming out and saying it.

Bucky wraps an arm around her shoulder. It’s not so much him that she’s worried about. This he knows. They’ve had their share of bickering, all out brawls that she probably doesn’t remember. She knows Bucky’ll do anything for her. 

“It’s okay.” He whispers. “Steve’s not going to be angry with you.” Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. Confirmations that she feels foolish in front of Steve. Bucky chuckles. “But you do know that he’s _my_ husband, right?”

The glare he gets for that is worth a thousand daggers and Bucky flings his palms out. Forgiven, it would seem, for his little outburst when she elbows him playfully in the ribs. Bucky doubles over as though she’s caused him pain and she skates away with a laugh. 

Behind Bucky, Steve is still sitting in the snow at the edge of the pond. Smiling at him. Bucky plops down next to him again and puts his head on his shoulder. 

“So you were, uh, saying? Husband?”

Hopeful thinking. Bucky’d really love to know what Steve wanted to tell him before they were interrupted. Because it felt like something life altering. A possible confession. Words spoken in a moment of murmured endearments and frozen in time by sugar flaked drifts. 

But Steve clears his throat. Closed fist in front of his hand and just shakes his head. 

“No, no. It was… nothing.”

Perhaps it _was_ a confession of love. Maybe it is. What Steve feels for him? Can it be love? The emotion tucked comfortably in a gift of chocolate, a hidden picture, a hug, a kiss, a blanket wrapped around him in the middle of the night. 

“Oh.” Bucky scoops up some snow and tosses it at his husband’s face. Keeps the heartbreak in check with playful antics. “Okay then.”

The act catches Steve by surprise. So much so that he tumbles back into the snow. The second he’s there, Bucky bursts out laughing. It’s cut short when there’s a tug at his arm and he’s brought down with him. Still laughing, he rolls onto of Steve. Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, playfully scold him probably. Bucky gives him no chance. Instead, he catches his mouth with his. Kisses him once, twice, then a third--long and drawn out. 

Whatever it was Steve wanted to say is gone by the time Bucky pulls away. Gone and replaced with a happy daze.

“I can keep you warm, too, husband.” Bucky murmurs as he helps Steve back up. Rests his head back on his shoulder. “If you don’t mind.”

Steve leans his head against Bucky’s. 

“Not in the least, my Sweetheart.”

Bucky wants to say it. He’s tested the words, just last night. Saying them out loud. Enjoyed the way they tasted coming off his tongue. _I love you, Steve Rogers_. It’d be easy. Just a breath. He takes it.

And all that comes out is air. 

After lunch--light, just some stew since supper will be served in three courses for Christmastide’s Eve traditions--just as Steve said, the children sing and dance. Rebecca even gets Bucky to join in with the singing. In between little performances and acts, Bucky enthusiastically ends up in the kitchen--sometimes with Steve, sometimes without--and does what he can to help with the cooking.

At some point, both Winifred and Rebecca end up there with him. He’s making bread. Kneading dough and smiles up at them.

“Can we help?” Winifred asks. 

“You… are you sure?” Bucky asks. It’s not that either don’t understand hard work. But, like, Bucky, neither have ever done things like this before. “You don’t have to, Mother. You can…”

But Winifred steps forward and rolls up her sleeves. She picks up some dough from the bowl and drops it onto the flour coated counter. Grabs the nearest rolling pin and rolls. Bucky can only watch as she continues to flatten and knead as though born with said knowledge. She even pulls Rebecca over and shows her what to do.

“I… Mother?” Bucky doesn’t know how he’s speaking when he feels so speechless. “When did you learn to do that?”

“I married up, James.” She says simply. Matter-of-fact. It matters not that they’ve rarely spoken of her former House. “Very much above my station. Barely considered Society, but enough that the House was able to procure an arrangement with the House of Barnes when I was a baby. I did not have the luxuries you and your sister grew up with. No staff to cook for us. I learned myself.”

Bucky’s hands slow in his chore. He catches eyes with Rebecca. She’s just as surprised at this as he his. His mother just goes on as if she hasn’t revealed a thing about herself. Tells him not to let the dough sit for too long. 

The kitchen is a place of hustle and bustle. Noises and talking, banging pots and pans. Water boiling over and kettles whistling. Bucky likes the rush and constant sounds. Reminds him of home. Of the Upper West Side. A river’s flow of trolleys and horses, horns honking and pedestrians walking. 

When those noises are suddenly cut in half, lowered and almost non-existent, Bucky’s startled. He’s over at the sink. Washing and drying. Unable to put away since he’s not sure where the homes of most of the items are. Everyone has left the room. Leftover noises are those being carried throughout the house. 

The bread is cooling. The puddings are in the icebox. Gravy is simmering on the stovetop. Goose is in the oven. And Bucky’s just standing at the sink. Being watched. 

His husband’s eyes light up when he’s caught standing in the doorway. Steve steps in with a smile on his face. Comes straight over and pulls Bucky into his arms while Bucky’s still facing the sink. Lips are at the side of his neck. Kissing up and down, even around. Bucky’s hands are wet and soapy and Steve’s making him weak at the knees. 

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. 

“Sh.” Even just the sound of his shush is intoxicating. “Unless you want me to stop.” He backs off. “Do you want me to stop, baby?”

Bucky whimpers and leans back so that he’s better angled for Steve’s lips. His husband chuckles and takes full advantage of the position. There’s a tickle and a wonderful burn of the even thicker facial hair that’s grown over the past two days. Bucky moves his head back so that it’s pressed against Steve’s shoulder as that mouth continues to glide along his skin. 

It’s Steve who moans first. A deep, instinctive sound that rumbles through his chest, has him spinning Bucky around and pinning him against the counter. Mouth against his, Steve’s thigh pushes softly in between his legs and Bucky can’t hold back the groan. It breaks off into a whimper. The shiver of hidden desires. 

Steve’s hands untuck his shirt and slip underneath. Warm and strong and protective. Just a bit possessive. Every bit what Bucky wants. Needs. He runs fingers into his husband’s hair to taste even more of him. It doesn’t matter that he had his fill early this morning. He’s currently running on empty. Every ounce of desire blazing through him like a tidal wave of heat and sun. 

He hums--the susurration of something sweet and sultry on his lips, firm along his tongue. Steve nibbles and sucks on his earlobe and pulls more jagged noises from him.

“I cannot wait to get you in private.” He murmurs in between soft suckles and strong kisses. “So you can make all the noise you want.”

“Mmm…” Bucky finds himself panting already. Deliciously struck at such thought of privacy and shouts of glee to gracious pillows and bashful walls. “I don’t want this time to end. But I’m looking forward to returning home.”

There’ve been lips pressed up against him, somewhere, even with Steve speaking, the whole time. When he says that, his husband pauses. Bucky can hear a quick intake of breath just before he moves away. Stares at Bucky with a shine in his eyes.

“What?” Bucky asks. “Husband, what is it?”

“Home.” He murmurs. Feathers another kiss along Bucky’s jawline. “You… called it… home.”

He sounds pleasantly surprised. Happy. Eyes pooling to warm liquid as they look upon him in profound wonder.

Bucky shivers. Not from cold, but the soft, inexplicable whispers of everything that is right breathing across his soul. Home. With Steve. 

“That’s… what it is? Isn’t it?” He wonders, a fleeting moment of panic at the thought of being wrong. “I mean, it’s _yours_ ,” Legally. By all rights. The building, the stone, the structure; all belongs to Steve. But the insides… “But it’s… _our_ home, right?”

The first answer he gets his a firm, enthusiastic kiss upon the forehead. Where lips sweep down and meet his own.

“Yours.” Steve whispers and kisses more. “Mine.” Two more kisses. “Ours.” One last kiss. “Home. Our home, baby. Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

“Steve,” Bucky breathes. 

No real reason. Just to say his name. Because he loves saying his name. Thinking his name. Bucky suspects he’d know Steve anywhere now. Just by the brush of a touch on the back of his neck. That sweet, tender hand both strong and gentle. Ready to lead and change the world, and Bucky, by no means of lack of fear, is prepared to follow. To the end of the line. 

“Come on.” Steve says, running his hand once over the top of Bucky’s head. “I _was_ sent in here to fetch you.”

“Were you?”

“Indeed I was. You distracted me.”

Bucky laughs. “I suppose I should take fault for that? Okay. If I must.” Steve’s chuckling at him. “Why the sudden need for my presence?”

“It’s time to play games.” Steve tells him, a childlike excitement stirring in the air around him. “Before supper. It’s fun.” He takes hold of his hand and leads him out of the kitchen. “Come on. We’ll be on the same team.”

They end up playing several games and, true to what Bucky’s come to know, there’s nothing quiet or calm about them. There’re shouts of laughter and just shouts to shout. Bodies scurrying across big rooms as they dart this way and that depending on the game. Shrieks of delight and moans of playful disappointment. And Steve is right. It’s most definitely fun. All of them include everyone and Bucky is happy to have his husband at one side, sister at the other while his mother is recruited to stay with Sarah and Joseph. 

At first, Bucky’s worried the House Rogers’ energy and rowdiness might be too much for her to handle in the face of her proper upbringing. Instead, Winifred ends up laughing harder than he’s ever seen. Loud and open, cheeks tomato red and tears hugging the corners of her eyes. Diamond like. Badges that belong to the part of her that must despise Society and all its customs and traditions. 

“Oh!” She laughs to Bucky and Rebecca as things begin to wind down. “I haven’t,” She takes a breath and wipes her eyes, “laughed like that in years.” Winifred gets out one last giggle and then works on maintaining herself. Pressing her hair, straightening her clothes, making sure her hands are clean. “I may have made a bit of a spectacle of myself.”

Bucky glances out behind her. At the family who accepted him as one of their own with open arms. Understanding and patient.

“No, Mom.” He assures her. “Not here.”

Rebecca claps her hand. “Can we do this every year, Mother?”

“I’m afraid not. Your aunt agreed to let us stray from tradition this year. But two years in a row might be asking a bit too much.”

Right. Because it was not just Winifred’s decision to make on her own to be here. A break from House tradition falls upon the Head of the Family. That was Bucky’s father. Now his aunt. A kind, fair woman, but with a keener hold on tradition that George had been. 

Rebecca sighs. She gazes up at Bucky with a question, a hopeful expectation on her face.

“But, you’ll come next year, won’t you?” She asks. “Like the Lord and Lady Rogers said you could? Your husband won’t mind, would he?”

Bucky takes a peek over to where Steve is with his mother and father. They’re laughing, the three of them. Sarah’s hand is in Steve’s. Joseph’s arm is around her. Somberness, heavy and uncomfortable, pushes down on him. Perhaps next year might not be the best to make changes.

“I don’t know, Rebecca.” Bucky answers and hugs her as soon as he sees the tears in her eyes. “Don’t cry. Please? I don’t know what the next year will bring.”

“What do you mean?” She wonders, face hidden in his shirt. “They said you could…”

“I know what they said. And they meant it.” He holds her at arm’s length. “But our first year without Dad was better because we spent it together, was it not?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Steve… my husband might need that next year. He might need me to be with him here. I need to give him that.”

The meaning, the added weight behind his words is caught just seconds later. More tears fill Rebecca’s eyes as she glances around the room. Trying to pick out who Bucky can be talking about when her gaze lands upon his husband with his parents. 

“Bucky?”

His mother says it. Even he can hear the pain behind her voice. Just a day with these people and they feel for all of them.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He says. There’s nothing more he can say. No information he should be sharing with them. Not about Sarah and how sick she is. They’ll say nothing, of course. There’s no fear of that. It’s just not Bucky’s secret to share. “I just need to be here for Steve when it does. No matter what that means for me.”

“From sacrifice comes glory.” Winifred whispers. Her fingers tuck under his chin. “You may not be of the House of Barnes anymore, James…” She smiles at him, warm and tender, “But your father would be proud.”

“Mother…” The smiles that pulls up on his face feels shaky. “Thank you.”

“Am I… interrupting?” 

All three of them look over to his husband. Coming over slowly. A pace at a time so that he doesn’t come in uninvited.

“No, not at all, Lord Rogers.” Winifred smiles politely. 

“Oh, please,” Steve rattles his head, uncomfortable, again, with such formalities. “Steve. Just… you can call me Steve.”

“Right, my apologies, Steve.” She touches Bucky’s arm. “James did say you prefer to be called by your first name. Please excuse me if that takes me some time to get used to.”

“No, no, don’t apologize. It’s fine.” 

He looks at Bucky with something that might be pride in his smile. As though Bucky knowing that preference makes him proud. That does strange things to Bucky. Thoughts of Steve being proud of him, pleased with his actions. Clouds parting and letting soft cones of sunrays warm him.

Steve says, “We’re ready for supper. I just thought I’d come to escort you to the dining room.” 

His husband winks at him, but holds an arm out for Rebecca. Who both lights up and blushes at the same time. Private Steve. Nervous interacting with anyone new, but confident and sure surrounded by his House. And, Bucky, maybe. Rebecca graciously accepts his arm and makes an attempt to keep her head up and face straight, only to falter and have to hide her giggling smile. 

“Shall we, Mom?” Bucky asks, offering his left arm to her.

She loops her arm with his. “I’d be honored, Lord Barnes.”

They all gather around the huge table in the dining room. Two of them, long and rectangular, pushed together and covered in tablecloths of lace. There’re candles on the table, providing a soft glow and peaceful ambiance among the meal spread out across it. Stuffings and potatoes, platters of vegetables, baskets of breads and rolls, pies and puddings to be served afterwards. The roasted goose is at the head of the table, where Joseph sits with Sarah at his side. 

The meat is carved after Joseph leads them all through the family prayer--words of togetherness and community, hard work, justice and fair play. He even thanks Bucky’s family for being with them. As though the choice to be here is an honor for the House of Rogers when the whole of Society would view it the other way. That’s _if_ they weren’t scorned for it first. 

They’re not even all served when the stories of past begin. Stories that last the entirety of the meal and then some. There’s the tale of how Joseph spilled wine all over himself when he and Sarah were first courting and one of Steve’s uncle trying to surprise his pregnant aunt by having the nursery painted only to paint the wrong room in his excitement. There’s fond memories of the House of Rogers’ previous Head of the House--Joseph’s mother. A few tears are shed when they pay respect to a few other lost relatives. They talk about various trips they’ve around the world and shows they’ve seen, art exhibits they’ve gone to. There’s some talk about that newer artist who goes by the pseudonym _Captain_. 

“I was at their exhibit last year.” Steve’s cousin, Eileen, comments. “Beautiful.”

“Different.” Bucky says, having been at the same exhibit. He had gotten lost in the seas and winds of colors. A blur of abstract and surrealism that pulled him into a world so unlike his own. “Whoever they are, they do see the world through different eyes.”

“Are you going to the new exhibit?” Eileen wonders. “The one opening after the New Year? It’s invitation only, at least before it opens to the public, but I can’t imagine you didn’t receive one.”

Bucky feels a tug of excitement. It’s not that he’s ever been an avid participant in the art world, but he does know what he likes and Captain’s work is it.

“Did we, Steve?” He asks.

Steve is concentrating on his food. Pushing some peas and carrots around with his fork and taking a very long time to swallow what’s already in his mouth. He nods. 

“Can… can we go?” There’s a slight shift in his husband’s comfort level. Bucky can see it in the stiff way he’s sitting now. Shoulders tense and knee bouncing.

Steve swallows and asks, “You like Captain’s work?”

“I do. Very much.” He tells him. “It’s fascinating. A dream almost. Like seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.”

Steve seems to duck his head down and smile at his lap. He scratches at his chin before nodding again. 

“Yes.” 

Yes? Right. Bucky’s asked a question, asked if they could go to the exhibit Steve appears awfully shy about attending. 

Under the table, Bucky places a hand on Steve’s thigh. His husband glances over at him as more conversations go on. The art exhibit a thing of the past now. Steve smiles at him, lowers his hand and gives Bucky’s an assuring tap.

“C-can I tell a story?” Rebecca’s asking. Her voice small and unsure. Possibly not her right as a guest. Her nerves are put to rest when she receives a boisterous chorus of approval. “It… well it’s my favorite. How my brother became my hero.”

Bucky goes cold. Completely. The air like ice. His heart splinters at such a thought. 

“Rebecca,” Winifred says, almost scolding. “I think maybe it’s best to leave that one out this year.”

“Oh.” She looks thoroughly disappointed. “I’m sorry, Mother. It’s just… we tell it every year.”

They tell it wrong every year. She’s right though. They do tell it every year. Bucky’s long since given up trying to stop her. 

“Bucky?” Rebecca implores, eyes wide with the innocence and loss of things memories better forgotten. “Please?” 

He tries to smile for her. Make it real and warm when all he feels is the chill that’s wrapped around him. 

“Go ahead.” He whispers.

His left hand is cradled in his lap, and Bucky’s much too aware of the fact that Rebecca has the attention of everyone there. Except maybe Steve. He’s still focused on Bucky. A hand on the back of his neck. Attempts to thaw the ice caked there. Futile.

“We were on vacations in the mountains.” She starts. Right. “I was just six and Mother and Father had gone out skiing. Bucky was going sledding with his friends.” Right. “I wanted to play outside.” Wrong. “And I snuck outside without permission.” Wrong. “But I must have told my nanny that I was going out with Bucky.” Right. “I guess I wanted to explore a little bit.” Wrong. “So I, well, I just walked off.” Wrong. “It was a few hours before anyone got home and realized that I was missing.” Right. “Mother and Father called the local police and started searching. Bucky was told to stay behind with his friends, but he didn’t listen.” Right. “It was snowing really hard because there was a storm coming.” Right. “And my brother, he, he just happened to pick the right way to go.” Wrong. “Found me almost a full mile away by the river. It was night and with all the snow Bucky couldn’t figure out how to get back. So he took his jacket off and wrapped me up in it and just held me.” Right. “We just waited.”

“We found them a little under an hour later.” Winifred picks up where Rebecca’s fuzzy memories leave off. Her voice shakes. “Huddled together and nearly covered in snow. Bucky had been shielding as much of his sister as he could. His left side exposed too long to such extreme cold. My headship and I knew immediately that something was wrong.”

The table is silent as they absorb the story. Eyes fall upon Bucky. One by one as they put two and two together. The missing piece of the puzzle that none of them were exactly trying to put together. 

“Is that… how…?”

Bucky’s not sure who’s asked it. The obvious question. He can barely hear it anyway. He can’t feel much beyond the knots in his stomach.

“Yes.” He whispers. Runs fingers over his left arm to quiet its mocking.

“Bucky saved my life that day.” Rebecca finishes proudly. “That’s how Bucky became my hero.”

“He certainly is a hero!” 

Again, Bucky’s not sure who’s speaking. Someone calls out a ‘ _here, here!_ ’ and someone else suggests champagne to celebrate. They all accept Rebecca’s broken story as the whole truth and busy themselves by showering Bucky with praises and compliments. Sympathetic smiles and undeserving credit. 

Everyone except Steve. Who sits in silence with him so that Bucky doesn’t need to sit in it alone. Unfooled. Steve knows there’s something left unsaid. Proved more when his hand slides to seek Bucky’s. He holds it. Tight and secure. Safe. A reminder that his husband is here and ready to listen to the whole story if and when Bucky ever decides to share it.

Bucky wants Steve to look at him the way he did before. Always. Proud and pleased with him. And there’s nothing about the truth of Rebecca’s story of Bucky the hero that could ever make him proud.

~~

It’s well into the late hours of the night by the time Steve pours himself into bed. After the unveiling of the tree all lit up with candles and sparkling trimmings. After the singing and dancing, which Steve did his best with Bucky but suggested he partner with his sister to keep from breaking his feet. After the gift exchange. He climbs into bed. Next to his husband. Who’s been acting happier than he really is. There’s an anxious pull on his lips when he smile at Steve. He’s nervous. Steve knows why and it’s not something Steve is going to bring up.

It was hard enough for Steve not to fall to pieces when his exhibit, _Captain’s_ exhibit, was brought up. Even harder when Bucky began to unknowingly shower him with compliments. His husband likes his art. Called it fascinating. Steve knows he needs to give it up. He can’t keep his secret studio where he throws shapes and colors onto a canvas to show the world his innermost secrets. But there’s a small piece of him that wishes he could. Just so he can keep on creating things for Bucky. Things he calls fascinating.

“Did you have a good day?” Steve asks when he slips under the covers. 

They’re both sitting up and as soon as Steve is settled, Bucky leans against him. No hesitation. Just an act of familiar affection. Sought out and received. Steve smiles.

“I did, husband. It was a good day.” He sighs. A contented breath of air that’s followed by a kiss to the side of Steve’s neck. “Did you, Steve? Did you enjoy the day?”

“Very much.” Steve shimmies his arm around Bucky’s waist. Pulls him closer and gets a muffled giggle from the action. “Thank you.”

Steve rests his head against the top of Bucky’s. Today was a day that memories are made of. A day to look back on with fondness and laughter. One last Christmastide’s Eve festivities to be locked away and treasured with his heart. His mother smiling the whole time.

“May I take a turn, my Sweetheart?”

Bucky lifts his head to get a look at him. Not sure what he means at first. It’s been a long while since they played their little game. A smile pulls up on Bucky’s lip the second he catches up with Steve and understands. It fades in a moment. Blown away by a wind of assumptions. 

“Yes.” He whispers. “Of course, husband.”

There’s caution laced in his voice. Bucky’s tense and preparing for the question he thinks Steve has for him. About his arm and what really happened that day. Rebecca’s version is not the same as Bucky’s. If it was, he doubts Bucky would have remained so silent, so stiff and uncomfortable during the story. It’s not just modesty. Steve knows his husband enough by now to see there’s more than that at play here. 

“Were you always so compliant with other partners in bed?”

“I’d rather…” Bucky starts his answer to the unspoken question before Steve even finishes his actual question. The rest of Bucky’s statement dries up in the middle of it. He blinks and rattles his head. “Wait, what?”

Steve cups his cheek. Keeps him there with him. In this moment rather than the places Bucky has no desire to relive. 

“Is that something different with me?” Steve rephrases. “Your eagerness to listen in bed?”

His entire face heats with a deep, dark blush. Maybe more so considering the direction of the discussion did not go the way he was expecting. 

“Oh. I…” He chuckles. Pulls a bit on his ear and is still blushing when he answers, “No. Not like that. It… depended on who I was with. But it just feels right that way. With you.”

“Can I ask why?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. It’s my turn.”

Steve laughs and scoops Bucky’s hands up in his own. Brings them up and kisses them both. 

“Those are the rules, aren’t they?” 

“Yes.” Bucky smiles. “Unless my headship would like to change them now. That is your right of course.”

“I know it is. But we’ll stick with these rules for now. They’ve worked. What’s your question?”

“Have you always been a leader in the bedroom?”

“Yes. I think. I haven’t all _that_ much experience I suppose,” That makes Bucky blush again. “But I like to take care of who I’m with.”

“Ah. I see. Then I think you just answered your own question, husband.”

“I did?”

He nods and curls into him. Craving more physical affection. Steve puts his arms around him. He might be too big now, the opposite of what he was as a child, but maybe he’s actually just right. Because at his size, Steve is able to wrap his husband in his arms. Pull him close against his body. A perfect fit. 

“You did. With you, Steve, it just feels right. I like you taking care of me.”

“Oh.” Steve hugs him more. Wants him to feel safe with him forever. He kisses the top of his head. “So then it _is_ special. Between us.”

“It’s always special with you, Steve.”

Words let slipped. Bucky tucks his chin in and buries his face in the folds of Steve’s arms. 

“It is for me, too, Bucky.” He assures him. “It’s always special with you, baby.” 

Bucky seems to think on this for a moment. He ends up in a smile and wiggles closer. Stretches a leg and wraps it over Steve’s. 

“Is that… all? Steve? You didn’t want to ask anything… else?”

Steve gingerly parts the opening of Bucky’s shirt. Slips fingers inside and touches lightly the spot where his left arm is attached.

“I’m here, Bucky. If ever you _want_ to share it.” Bucky shivers beneath his arms and Steve takes care to pull blankets tighter around them. “Sleep now, my Sweetheart. We have to be up early for breakfast.”

Bucky nods against him. Makes no attempts to free his body from the tangled up limbs around him. He seems to find comfort here and Steve revels in such a thought. Bucky yawns, and Steve follows. Long day catching up. Bucky might slip in a _thank you, husband_ , in between yawns, but Steve’s too lost in a haze between awake and dreamland to answer.

***

Steve wakes to the shivering. And whimpering. The fire has gone out to just a smolder of bright orange embers. Trying hard to provide the warmth the room needs. Bucky is lying next to him. The blankets a tangled mess around him and whining in his sleep. Crying. There’re tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He makes another whimpered sound and cries out for his father. 

Hand on his shoulder, Steve gives him a shake. Says his name and tries to pull him out of whatever nightmare has its grip around his mind. No good. He does it again.

“Bucky?” He jostles him more. “Bucky, wake up.”

His husband thrashes a few times. Hands and arms coming dangerously close to striking Steve with each pass. 

“Hey, hey!” Steve raises his voice. No longer speaking in hushed tones. He grabs hold of both his husband’s shoulders and gives a few hard shakes. “Bucky! Come on, wake up, baby! Wake up!”

Bucky’s eyes pop open. They uncross, remain fuzzy, and he scrambles away from Steve and can’t seem to figure out what to do. He’s trembling. Trying, it seems, to get his hands around his arms and rub for friction. Like he’s freezing and can’t warm up no matter how hard he tries. 

“Bucky?” Steve tries cautiously. 

Doesn’t look like Bucky can fully process what’s going on. Mind still trapped in whatever world has him in such a fright. 

“Where’s Rebecca?” He asks. Tears spilling over the brim of his red eyes. “Where is she?”

“It’s okay, Bucky. She’s sleeping. In one of the guest rooms with your mother.”

“No, no!” He screams. Panicked. He’s still dreaming even awake. Bucky has no idea where he is. “They won’t find her!”

Steve cups his husband’s face. Tight. Maybe painfully so, just slightly, but he needs to calm him down. Snap him out of this.

“Bucky! Bucky, look at me!” He taps fingers of his cheek. “You’re okay, Bucky. Your sister is fine.” Bucky’s eyes find his. He blinks a few times. Coming back. “Come on, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Opaque eyes begin to clear. Nightmarish fogs blown away by a familiar face, a comforting touch. 

“S-Steve?”

“That’s right. It’s me. Your husband.”

Still held in Steve’s embrace, Bucky scans what he can of the room. He takes in a few quick breaths. Jagged and followed by a soft whimper. His face crumples and Bucky throws himself into Steve’s lap. The sob that takes hold of him startles Steve. 

“Hey, baby?” He’s holding him. Trying to anyway. Running fingers over his head. Adding kisses. Hugging him. “Bucky, talk to me. Please.”

He doesn’t. He can’t. All he seems capable of doing at the moment is bawling wordlessly. There’s so much pain in each gasp of breath he tries to take. Steve tries again and again to calm him. After a few minutes, he forgoes the efforts in favor of letting Bucky cry like he obviously needs to do. He holds him the whole time. Through sobs and broken whimpers and a downpour of tears until everything dries up and he doesn’t move. Goes somewhat limp in Steve’s embrace. As though his body can no longer keep up with the emotions going through him. 

Bucky continues to not move. Steve’s heart aches. Beats hard with all the pain he can’t possibly understand. Thump, thump, thump. He can’t do nothing. He just can’t. 

He says, “You know, Peggy taught me how to swim.” Steve pauses though he hardly expects a response. “She did. When we were really young. I think we were five. At the pond we skated on earlier. She started by knocking me into the water. I’d been so scared that it took her lifting me up to realize that I could stand.” He chuckles at the memory. “Once we started I wouldn’t stop. My skin was all wrinkled and pruny and Peggy kept trying to get me to come out, but I was determined to learn it all that day. I _guess_ you could say I was a little stubborn. It wasn’t until after sunset, and my mom came to get us that _she_ finally dragged me out. I thought I was in trouble so I hid my eyes behind my hands as she dried me off.” Steve makes his arms tighter around his husband. “I wasn’t though. She told me she was proud of me for not giving up. I think that’s the moment I decided I never would.”

Fingers running softly over Bucky’s hair, Steve lets the absurdity of his story sink into the air. He has no idea why he chose that particular memory to share in this moment. But after a few silent moments, Bucky lifts himself up. His mouth quirks to the side a bit. Not really a smile but not _not_ a smile either. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. 

“It’s okay.” Steve touches him again. Keeps the contact and fears the world might come undone without it. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t I?” Bucky murmurs. And huffs an unamused laugh as though the universe has told a joke that Steve doesn’t get. “It’s my fault.”

“What?” Steve questions softly. “What’s your fault?” The only answer he gets is a desperate look from his husband. He can’t bring himself to say it and needs Steve to understand on his own. “Bucky, do you mean…”

Steve touches Bucky’s left shoulder and Bucky’s gaze sweeps down before catching Steve’s again.

“I want to tell you, Steve.” His voice catches like the air hurts. “But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Steve delivers his answer with a kiss. “You’re my husband, Bucky. I can’t hate you.”

“You promise?”

Bucky looks so small right now. Helpless. Eye puffy and red and nose stuffed up. 

“You can tell me whatever you need to tell me.” Steve says. Not quite what Bucky is looking for, but it’s the best he can give him. “It’s okay.”

“She wanted to come with me.” That’s all he says. All he can get out. The rest gets stuck in his throat until Steve caresses him. “Rebecca. She wanted to come sledding with me. Talia, Clint and Maria were waiting for me at the hill. Just behind the cottage we were renting. Rebecca wouldn’t stop pestering me. All day. She just kept whining and begging me to let her come. I didn’t want her to.”

Steve opens his mouth, because Bucky’s paused--though he has no idea what he can possibly say or where this is headed--but Bucky goes on.

“I felt like she always got her way. Which she did. But so did I. I just didn’t see it that way then. I… I told her she could. That she could come. She was so excited, Steve. I can still picture the way she smiled at me. Like I’d just given her the most unbelieveable present ever. She hurried to get ready, told the nanny that she was coming with me.” Bucky’s voice has lost all warmth and meaning. He’s speaking now with a daze guiding the words. “But when we went to leave I told her that she needed to go the long way if she wanted to be a big kid like us. Said she needed to go _around_ the bottom of the hill to get to the top.”

He pauses again. Fiddling with metal fingers as though waiting for something awful to happen.

“I thought…” He needs a moment to catch his breath. “I thought she would just end up back at the yard. I didn’t know the river was there. I… if I had known I wouldn’t have…” Bucky rubs fingers into his eyes. “I should have just let her come. It was over two hours before anyone knew she was missing. Everything happened so fast. Mom and Dad rushed out to get help. I was just standing there. I couldn’t believe… I just knew it was my fault. I ran after them to tell them where to look, but they were gone already. I was supposed to stay but, I just, I couldn’t. So I went after her.” 

He’s staring out at nothing. Or maybe at things Steve just can’t see. Things he never wanted to share with anyone.

“It was snowing already. When I got to the river I started to cry. I thought maybe she’d tried to cross it. Fallen in and got washed away. But then I heard her crying. She was calling for our mother, Steve. She was so small. So scared. So cold. When she saw me, she looked so relieved. I wrapped her up in my coat and tried to carry her back. But it was snowing so hard. Everything looked the same. I put her down and leaned up against this really big rock. Tried to keep her warm. It was so cold. Steve… it was _so_ cold. It hurt. Everything hurt. Oh it hurt so much. I thought… I thought we were going to die. And I just kept telling her how sorry I was. We’re not a praying family, but I remember praying then. Saying I’d give anything to save her. The next thing I knew I was in my father’s arms. He was carrying me. I thought Rebecca was dead. I killed her. I was screaming. But she was in my mother’s arms. Alive. Freezing and very weak, but alive. They brought us to the hospital. My father was still holding me on the way when I fell asleep. Woke up without half my arm.”

That’s where he stops. No real reason for him to have to go on. Steve knows the rest. Knows he went through reporters hounding the family for information, knows eight years later he had the operation to attach the metal arm. 

Bucky glances up at him. Fear all over face. Afraid of the judgement he’s already bestowed upon himself. Harsh and cruel. Steve’s throat feels too tight. Everything his husband’s just told him… Bucky’s just given him a piece of his soul. Something etched along the edges of it. Stitched in the fabric of time and loss and pain. 

“Have you ever told anyone this before?” Steve asks. 

“No. I… they called me a hero.” Bucky shakes his head. “My dad died thinking that.”

“You _are_ a hero.” 

Steve leans in and kisses him though he hardly gets kissed back. His husband looks shocked at being kissed after sharing his decade long secret of guilt and shame. 

“Didn’t… didn’t you just hear me?” He whispers. “I… “

“You were a child, Bucky. You made a mistake. A horrible mistake, yes, but a mistake.” That fear of being hated is still all over him. If anything, Steve thinks _more_ of him for being brave enough to tell him all this. “But you still saved Rebecca’s life. And she’s okay. Nothing happened to her. She doesn’t even remember most of the day. You’d have given your life for her. You _did_ give your arm.”

“I hate saying no to her now.” Bucky blinks away tears before his eyes can overflow. “You really don’t… hate me, Steve?” He wipes at his eyes and sniffles. 

“No, Bucky. I don’t hate you. C’mere.” He holds his arms out and Bucky moves in. Breathes out relief and more sorrow in one exhale. He’s held all this in for so long. Not for the glory of being called a hero but for fear of losing even more. “You’re so brave, Bucky. It happened. It’s over. And you need to forgive yourself.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Maybe it starts like this.”

A confession of sorts. Cleansing. Having the words lifted off his chest and out in the open to someone. So that guilt and shame may be eased into penance and forgiveness. 

Bucky looks up at him. “Will you still kiss me, Steve?”

“Yes. Of course. Now. Right now.”

Steve does. He kisses long and hard. His husband tastes like salt and dried tears. Bucky makes a noise while being kissed. Strained and broken, but not stop. Definitely not stop.

So he doesn’t. Steve doesn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter legit took forever. But Happy Friday ((or Saturday as is the case where I am))! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> So things haven't quite calmed down this week and I _am_ spread a little thin. So, where we stand right now there isn't going to be an update next week. If that can change, I'll happily update, but at the moment I need a little breather to get myself caught up.
> 
> Thank you for reading this week and come follow me on tumblr [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> And for you image viewing pleasure:
> 
> Let's start with Bucky talking with Rebecca and Winifred
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> Here he is enjoying supper
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> And when he's trying to tell Steve the truth about what happened
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> Then there's Steve when they're out at the pond
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> As Bucky's having his nightmare 
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> And finally, Steve when he's assuring Bucky he doesn't hate him
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> Also, my apologies for taking so long to get back to people who have taken the time to leave comments. They mean so much to me! As I said things are a bit overwhelming at the moment, but I'm trying to catch up!! Thanks to everyone!! <3


	24. Sorry For the Wait! But Here It Is.

Bucky has been quiet ever since the night he shared his story. Just with Steve. 

He was animated during Christmastide morning and seemed pleasantly thrilled to go down to the nearby village to go carolling. With his sister, Bucky happily handed out treats and rolls and bread to the families there. Steve knows he’d never done that before and the look on his face when handing things out was worth the trip alone. Boxing day came and went with a trip back to the village. All the while Bucky kept close to everyone else. 

There was a tearful goodbye this morning when Bucky’s mother and sister left for their early train. As much as it pained him to see his Sweetheart part ways with his family again, Steve needed to be sure, for their sake more than his own House’s, that they wouldn’t be seen together. 

It’s not that Bucky’s been avoiding Steve, but he’s nervous. Steve can tell by the way he’s holding himself in. Arms tucked in, eyes moving about the room to focus on anything other than Steve, quick, short answers. Even now on the train ride home, he’s nothing like he was on the way to the farmhouse. 

There’s no excitement to be on a train again or while looking out the window. He keeps taking little peeks over at Steve. Secret looks that sometimes Steve catches, sometimes he's sure he misses. It's like his husband is waiting for something to happen. For Steve to catch on to what Bucky thinks he should feel about what happened all those years ago.

Steve's been sketching the whole time. Silence lingering. By himself as he sits in the armchair and Bucky takes the couch. He'd like to pull his husband into his arms and firmly insist he has nothing to worry about, and he's about halfway through his drawing when he realizes he _can_ do that. 

It's a strange feeling, knowing he has such a right, but Bucky has shown he sometimes needs that push. Wants it even. At least, Steve hopes. 

Putting his sketch pad to the side, new, given to him as a gift by his husband, Steve watches him for a few moments as Bucky stares out the window. Shadows pass over his face from the scenery outside. Quick flashes of darkness that breathe across his body, whisper lies into his soul. They don’t really reach Steve. Not where he’s sitting. Only sunlight splashes over him, with the occasional shadowed spot. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Bucky.”

He’s able to get his attention. Bucky’s gaze moves slowly from the window to Steve. Almost as though Steve’s just woken him up from a deep sleep. Where dreams may or may not have been his dear friend.

“Yes?”

“Come over here.”

“What?”

“I want you over here. With me. So come here.” He repeats. “Mind your husband,” He gives him a grin and holds his hand out, “and do as you’re told.”

Bucky’s mouth falls open a tad. The unexpected order falling upon his ears and making him both blush and hesitate. He gets up though. Gets up and takes the few steps that bring him closer to Steve. The second he’s within reach, Steve opens his hand for him. Leaves it up to Bucky to take it even if he fully intends on keeping him close whether he wants it or not. 

Doesn’t matter anyway. Bucky does place his hand in Steve’s and Steve pulls him onto his lap. The action makes Bucky laugh. Not whole. Not the laugh he’s been starting to use. Real. 

Steve hugs him close and rubs his hand up and down his back. At first, Bucky’s a little tense in his arms. The longer he’s there, with Steve holding him, a physical presence of affection and safety, he starts to loosen up. Bucky even rests his head up against his shoulder. 

“I prefer you to stay close to me today, okay, Bucky?” Steve tells him. “I want you near me unless I say otherwise.”

His head lifts just enough for Bucky to be able to take a glimpse of him. Question on his face.

“You do?”

“Yes. I’d like that. Is that okay?”

Steve’s not _really_ looking for permission but he is relieved when Bucky nods as he settles his head back down. He might be grinning softly. Reassured. At least for the moment. 

“It’s okay, you know.” Steve murmurs. “Everything is okay. It’s okay to miss your family. I’m sorry I had to make them leave before us. I wish we could have all traveled back together. I would have,” He kisses the top of Bucky’s head. Becoming used to being able to do so freely. “I would let you see them any time you desired.” Bucky shudders in his arm. Not crying, at least, Steve doesn’t think so. “And… _we’re_ okay. You know that, right? What you told me? You’re okay, baby. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not at first. After a few minutes, Bucky slowly wraps his arms around Steve. Hands clench into the back of his shirt. Bucky holding tightly onto him like he never wants to let go.

“Steve…” He breathes. “I… Steve, I…” Bucky pulls his face out of the folds of Steve’s arm and look up at him. Thoughts stirring in his mind. Growing larger in his eyes. “I…” He sighs and that thought starts to shrink away. Instead, Bucky kisses him. “Thank you, Steve. Thank you for being so wonderful.”

Steve kisses him again and hugs him again and just keeps him wrapped up in his arms.

“Would you like some lunch?” He asks. “I can ring for the trolley. But I’m afraid I must insist that you stay right here. Where I want you.”

There’s a big grin on Bucky’s face when he looks back at him. Shining through his eyes. Whole.

“That sounds splendid, husband.”

The armchair is large enough that there’s plenty of room for the two of them to sit comfortably. Steve calls in the trolley and takes it upon himself to order food for the both of them. Proper protocol as headship anyway. He decides on the full meal--cold chicken, potatoes, lemon pudding, bread--since Bucky hadn’t eaten much of his breakfast earlier. This time around, Bucky eats a lot more. House Rogers’ table etiquette. He’s getting much better at it. Almost second nature now. 

“Did you have fun, Bucky?” Steve asks of their trip.

Bucky smiles at him. Mouth still full of lemon pudding since he’s eating more of that than anything else. And Steve hasn’t stopped him. 

“I did, Steve. I…” He sighs. Content and pleased. “I had more fun than I’ve had since I can last remember.” Bucky leans against him. Laces fingers and nuzzles his temple into Steve’s shoulder. “I feel good, husband. I hope I can give this to you. When you need it.”

Brushing his lips against his husband’s hair, Steve kisses the top of his head. Still not tired of the sweet permission to do so. 

“You already do, my Sweetheart.”

***

The rest of the ride home is a lot more open. Bucky doesn’t close off anymore. Keeps those walls right down like they’ve been. Every now and then, Steve’ll catch a quick glance of nerves. His husband still waiting for that shoe to drop, so to speak. For Steve to think so poorly of him because of what happened so many years ago. He’s going to be waiting a long time. Maybe, with each smiling answer Steve gives, Bucky will one day understand that. 

Now that the holiday season is coming to an end--there’s still the New Year to ring in but many Houses will stay away for private celebrations--the station isn’t crowded when the train pulls in. No reporters or spectators are there to welcome anyone home. There’s just no interest in them returning like there is in their departure. Makes it much easier getting a carriage to get them home. 

Cold rain trickles down from the dark grey clouds in the sky. The covered coach provides a bit of shelter from the frigid air, but the second they’re settled inside, Bucky immediately curls into him. 

“Mm. Is this okay, husband?” He asks as he goes ahead and make himself comfortable anyway. “It’s cold.”

Steve chuckles and puts his arms around him.

“It’s perfectly fine.” He assure him. “I did tell you I wanted you close, did I not?”

He smiles at him and slips his head down into his lap. The second he’s there, Steve takes to petting his hand over Bucky’s head. 

“Ah, that you did, husband.”

The rain makes for slower travels. And good conversation. Even with his head in his lap, Bucky starts talking with his hands. Lighthearted and carefree. They speak of the past few days and of times long ago. When they were children and just boys. The dreams they had, the dreams they lost, the dreams the didn’t think to dream. Bucky’s sharing himself with Steve more and more. Each story like a new star added to the sky. Sparkling and bright.

By the time they get home, the light rain has turned into a downpour. Heavy drops of water that make their presence known with each and every fall. Soaking into clothes, skin, hair. It takes two trips to get all the luggage inside.

Steve hurriedly gives the cabbie a tip so he can get in the parlor to join Bucky. Water drips from both of them as they shed their coats, hats, gloves and scarves. Hanging them with care back upon the coat hanger that’s seems so empty and lonely without them. There’s a chill permeating through the place which hasn’t been heated since their departure. 

“I can go light the furnace,” Steve offers as Bucky add his hat next to his. Looks at the two of them for a moment with a little grin on his face. “If you’d like to change into something dry.”

“Can we light a fire, too?” Bucky asks as he rubs his hands together.

“Of course.”

It’ll take some time for the steam furnace to warm the place and since the bedrooms are primarily lit by the fireplaces within it’ll take them that much longer to heat up. 

When a spray of water suddenly splashes the back of Steve’s neck, he gasps and spins around. Sees Bucky holding in a laugh, having shook his hair out right at him. On purpose.

“Get over here, you.” Steve laughs and pulls him forward. “Who do you think you are?” 

“I believe I am your husband.” He coos. Lashes blink over those sparkling eyes. Stars. Two for Steve and, maybe, only for Steve. “And I believe you are beginning to enjoy my sense of humor.”

“Beginning to?” He chuckles and tucks those stubborn pieces of hair behind Bucky’s ears. Easier when wet. Tamed at the moment and less likely to argue with him. “Good sir, I believe that has always been a quality I’ve found myself fond of.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply and instead of words coming out only gets a giggle. He blushes and hides his nose in Steve’s wet shirt. 

“Hey,” Steve lifts Bucky’s chin. “Kiss me, Bucky.”

“You can kiss me yourself, you know.”

“I know it.” Steve taps his nose. Smiles and brushes his thumb along the lips he wants against his. “But I want _you_ to kiss me right now.”

“Oh, _yes_ , my headship.” 

“Always have to be such a smartass.” 

Steve gets the sentiment out just as Bucky’s mouth lands upon his. Up on his toes for better reach and Steve runs his hand along his lower back to bring him in closer.

“Would you like to cook something in particular for dinner, Bucky?” He murmurs when he breaks away.

“We’re cooking?”

The expression on his husband’s face is a bit unreadable. A bit taken back at the prospect of cooking, which is a little strange since Steve’s been under the impression that he’s, at least somewhat, started to enjoy the task. And, even if he still thought of it as a hardship, a chore forced upon him by House custom, Steve, at the very least, thought doing it together would lighten the burden.

“We are.” He tilts his head. Loosens the hug their in together. “I thought you… didn’t mind cooking.”

“Oh I don’t.” Bucky chuckles. Playful fingers pick at the imaginary lint on Steve’s shirt and trail happy designs only Bucky can see over it. “I find it quite enjoyable actually.” He shrugs as if to say _go figure_. “So this means Truvie isn’t here?”

“Um…” Steve rattles his head. That’s not the question he expected to hear at all. “No. No she won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“And I take it the rest of the staff still has time off?”

Not much by means of staff. Truvie and Stiles are Steve’s main employees, but there are a few others who take care of some simple tasks around the house. 

“Yes. Everyone’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Which means…” Bucky’s gaze lowers and then sweeps back up. Cute and mischievous. Desire laced in the slight quiver of the lip tucked under his teeth. “We’re alone?”

Alone. Oh.

It takes Steve all of a heartbeat to know what Bucky’s after. To be after it just as strongly.

“Why yes, Lord Barnes,” He says. Sultry and heavy. Lowering his brow so that it hovers _just_ over his husband’s. “Yes, we’re alone.”

“Alone.” Bucky repeats. “All alone.”

“Mmm,” Steve runs his hands lower, down to Bucky’s backside and gives him a squeeze. Night filled eyes fluttered closed in response. “Is there something you’re after, my Sweetheart?” All he gets is a strained whimper at that and Steve chuckles. “God, I do love you like this.”

Bucky’s eyes open. Slightly dazed, a look of heaven within them, but they’re wide. Waiting. Almost hoping. 

“Steve…” He breathes. His mouth opens to say one thing, and another comes out, “You’re sure we’re alone?”

Steve smirks.

“I’m sure.”

They stare at each other for a few breaths. Steve’s not sure which of them moves first, but their clothes are being left in a trail behind them as they make a mad dash for the bedroom. If they can even make it there. 

Hands fumble about just to touch any part of each other. Their lips smack together as they try to kiss and move and move and kiss. Bucky ends up without anything over his lower body as his normally dexterous fingers fall all over each other as they try to undo Steve’s belt. His left arm makes whooshing sounds, like a quiet wind sneaking through the windowpane in the dead of night in Bucky’s haste. 

They’re almost at the landing on the stairs when Steve’s pants come loose. He has Bucky’s tongue gobbled up in his mouth when they slide down his legs. Makes it a tad difficult to step out of them since Steve is desperate to keep tasting his husband. Only he can’t.

The second his pants fall by the wayside, Bucky’s palming at his erection. A gasp fills Steve’s lungs at the unexpected touch. He groans against Bucky’s lips and falls away from the kiss. Head landing on his husband’s shoulder. 

“Bucky…” He breathes when that soft hand closes around him. Strokes smooth and gentle. 

He turns his head to see the pleased expression turn up on Bucky’s face. His husband seems quite content in catching Steve off guard like this. Bucky grabs a handful of Steve’s shirt and tugs without actually trying to drag him forward.

“Come _on_ , Stevie,” He whines. Teases and taunts. “The bedroom’s _that_ way.”

“Oo,” Steve stumbles over a few breaths as Bucky’s hand moves a bit more steadily, “You’re gonna get it.”

“Isn’t that what I’m asking for?”

Eyes narrowing in on his husband, Steve leans forward and rips Bucky’s shirt open. Buttons fly in every direction, scattering on the ground like the drops of rain outside. 

Bucky’s mouth falls open in mild shock, more surprise; the corners of his lips turned up slightly. 

“I’ll get you a new shirt,” Steve murmurs. Then dives in to cover Bucky’s collarbone with kisses. 

The second his mouth hits the right spot, right where his clavicles meet, Bucky goes weak at the knees. Steve wraps an arm around his waist to keep him steady, while keeping his lips running up and down his throat. A series of whimpers and moans run through him as Steve does so. They vibrate against Steve’s mouth and he eases Bucky on. Leads them onward to the bedroom.

They crash into the door. Closed since they left. Both of them are trying to grab the doorknob. Anxious, desperate even, to get it open. To fall into virgin sheets and rumple up blankets and pillows. 

It’s unclear who gets the door open. They each have a hand on the knob, but when it swings back, they’re met with a brittle chill. Cool fingers that brush against their flushed skin. Tripping over each others feet, lips locked and hands devouring every inch of skin they can, Steve somehow guides Bucky to the bed. 

He’s only got his ripped open shirt on and one sock. Steve stands and takes the sight in for a moment. His husband. His Sweetheart. Here with him. Home. _Wanting_ to be here with him. Wanting _him_.

“Regardez-vous,” Steve whispers. Knuckles brushing across his jaw line. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed. “Si belle. Dieu, vous êtes incroyable.”

His husband whimpers. Breaths coming out shallow and mouth pulling up in a sloppy grin. Bucky looks like he’s dreaming. Still, he moves forward and kisses Steve’s belly. Leaning down a bit, his lips catch his thigh, moving to the inside of it. Bucky slips off the edge of the bed and lowers himself to his knees so he can keep kissing down Steve’s leg, breathing one soft peck at the top of his foot before moving back up again and doing the same to the other leg. 

Steve leaves his hand atop Bucky’s head the whole time. Lost in sheer amazement of his husband and the actions he’s taking in this moment. He’s not quite sure what to think other than how much he adores this man. How hard he’s fallen in love with him. How he needs to tell him that. Say the words. If not now, soon. 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. His husband peers up at him. Smiling just enough that Steve can tell that’s what he’s doing. He slips his hands under Bucky’s elbows to bring him back to the bed. “Lay back.”

He nods and does, scooting towards the head of the bed so that his legs aren’t hanging of the edge like that. 

Steve says, “I’m going to kiss every inch of you.”

All he gets from that is a hum. Contented and happy. Bucky’s eyes close and Steve goes straight to it. Slips what little remains of Bucky’s clothing off and places his lips upon every stitch of skin showing. He’s just reached Bucky’s hips when his husband starts trembling beneath him. 

“Oh, Steve… husband…” He’s mumbling. 

There are other words in there as well. Whispered endearments that float along the chilly breezes hardly felt between heated bodies. But Steve can’t stop his task. Doesn’t want to. He needs to _feel_ all of his husband, _taste_ all of him with gentle touches of his lips. 

His own body is ablaze. Muscles curled hot over bones. Blood pumping hard through veins. Pulse pounding heavy in his ears. Steve doesn’t care. Not yet. Not until his job is done. Of making his husband a mess of sweat and shivers and pleads of more. More, more, more. 

When Steve wraps his mouth around Bucky’s swollen erection, leaking and so badly needing that attention, Bucky must remember that there’s no one home but them. Or most decidedly does not care. 

He screams Steve’s name into the open air. Moans spill from his lungs, loud and unrestrained. Coming from a place deep inside of him. Held back for much too long. 

Steve’s not going to be able to wait too long. He needs to be inside of his husband. To feel himself moving in and out of him again. When he moves away, Bucky goes limp upon the mattress. Erection pressed hard against his belly, now shimmering with Steve’s saliva. His eyes flicker as they open and Bucky appears dazed and confused, as though he’s just noticed that some part of Steve is not touching him. 

His mouth goes to form a word, but nothing other than a few whimpers comes out. 

“You with me, baby?” Steve asks. 

Bucky blinks twice and nods. Doesn’t bother trying for words again since none seem to be forming correctly in his mind. Or rather, won’t come out correctly if he tries. 

“Everything is good, right?” Steve checks in. Needs to make sure. “Feel’s good?”

He licks his lips first and then tries to sit up. Looks like he gives himself something of a head rush since Bucky wobbles a bit. Steve steadies him. Hand lightly on his shoulder to keep him from falling over.

“Hey, where’re you…”

Bucky shakes his head. Whispers, “Wanna taste you.”

“You… oh…” Steve smiles and ignores the pink in his cheeks. Possibly covered the by rest of the red in his skin anyway. He guides his husband back down to the pillows. Bucky looks like he wants to protest, but Steve’s hand at the side of his face soothes him. “I’ll give you what you want.”

A dazed smile pulls up on his lips and Bucky opens his mouth for him. Steve feeds himself to his husband and groans as he easily slips inside Bucky’s mouth. Moist and warm, Bucky eases his head up to take more of him. Steve needs to brace his body against the headboard. The tongue that swirls around his cock does amazing things to his insides. Heat coils around him. Skin fire soaked and insides lightning struck. 

“B-Bucky… oh… please… don’t stop…” Testing first to make sure he can maintain his balance, Steve rests one of his hands on Bucky’s head. Runs fingers through his hair. “Feels s-so good. You’re so good, baby…”

Bucky moans and moves even more at the praise. His left arm gets tossed over Steve’s waist and he sucks him in even further. Lips pressing against his belly.

The sudden tightness in his belly surprises Steve. Fire racing through him hot and fast. He’s not ready for it. Didn’t expect it so suddenly.

“Oh!” He exclaims. “Bucky, I… I can’t… M’gonna…”

This only spurs Bucky on even more. Arm still locked around Steve’s waist, he brings his hand to his hip. Holds onto him as best he can and speeds up until Steve explodes in his mouth. Bucky’s name falling hard from his lips. 

Bucky drops his head back down to the pillow once he’s sure Steve is finished and gasps a few unsteady breaths. His hand reaches up for Steve’s chest. Steve, who’s trembling above him. Each quiver runs through him like a reminder of such pleasure. 

He glances down at his husband. Bucky looks back up at him with a smirk. Happy with what he’s done. At making Steve lose himself so completely. Shaky elbows make it a bit harder, but Steve leans down and kisses Bucky. He can taste himself on his lips. 

There are still shivers running through his limbs as Steve trails more kisses up and down Bucky’s neck. He lays down next to his husband to keep close to him.

“Still with me, baby?” 

All Bucky does is kiss him for that. Good enough for Steve. He lets his hand crawl down his abdomen. Bucky’s back arches when Steve takes hold of him. He sucks in a quick, deep breath and releases a long held moan. 

Steve smiles at that. At all the wonderful, unrestrained sounds his husband’s making under his touch. Bucky’s head turns from side to side. Eyelids drooped and mouth hung open, closing every now and then to mumble something Steve can’t quite catch, he pants and starts to tremble. When Steve starts to move away, only in an attempt to give his husband more, to give Bucky even more reason to shout to the cloudy skies of a dreary afternoon, Bucky clings onto him.

He whimpers, “No… please…”

There’s another grin to be had. Steve nods and puts his arm around Bucky, holds him close as he continues to move his hand up and down. Thumb swirling up and over the top every now and then. Keeps Bucky guessing. Keeps his hips moving in perfect rhythm with Steve’s hand. 

Bucky buries his face in Steve’s side. Has his arm clutched around his midriff. Steve kisses the top of his head.

“You’re my spouse, right?” He murmurs. “My Sweetheart?”

“Y-yours.” Bucky pants. More air than noise now. “My husband?”

“Yours, baby.” He moves his hand quicker. “I’m your husband.”

“ _My_ Stevie.”

The way he says that, so meaningful, so _possessive_ , Steve’s never heard Bucky speak in such a way. He means it though and it makes Steve moan. Bucky tenses then and cries out Steve’s name, over and over and over, as his own relief spills from his body. 

He doesn’t move away though. Body falling limp right where it is, wrapped in Steve’s arms. Lips pressed against his side. 

“Bucky?” Steve tries to get his attention. To see if he’s gone off to that place he goes to. “Are you doing okay?”

The arm around his body gets tighter. A hug, almost. As best as Bucky can give him in the moment. When Steve tries to get a verbal answer just a few moments later, Bucky grunts and flicks his gaze up at him. Just enough that Steve can see his eyes. He looks irritated. Someone who’s just been woken up way too soon from an midday nap. 

“Sorry,” Steve chuckles. “Would you rather just lay here?”

Bucky smiles and hides his face again. Hooks his foot around Steve’s ankle and moves it up and down. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees. “But I want to get under the blankets. You’ll get cold.”

His husband complies, albeit a little reluctantly. Seems he wants nothing more than to be held. Which is fine. Steve’ll gladly hold him until he’s ready to resurface. Doesn’t mean he’s about to let him get cold. 

They’re under the covers for just a few minutes when Bucky lifts his head and blinks a few times with a small grin on his lips. 

“Hi,” Steve says. “Welcome back?”

“Thank you.” Bucky whispers. “Can we do that again?”

Steve laughs and kisses his brow. 

“Most assuredly,” He replies and kisses again just because. “But later. I really must light the furnace. It’s cold.” Steve pats the top of Bucky’s head. “Plus, there’s something we really should discuss. Nothing’s wrong,” He’s quick to add when Bucky’s face crinkles. “It’s just… our dinner party,” His husband’s eyes darken with understanding.

“Oh. That.”

“Right. It’s Friday.” Steve reminds him. “Three days from today.”

Bucky sighs and ends up with his chin in his palm. His elbow is resting just on Steve’s chest. 

“Must we?” Bucky wonders, and Steve’s not sure if he’s talking about discussing the dinner party or having it. “Can’t we just stay in here?”

“In our bedroom?” Steve snickers.

“Please? Would that be so bad?”

“I’m afraid it would be, my Sweetheart.” Steve leans in and they kiss. Chaste. Just lips against lips. “If we’re to maintain any status in Society, I do need to present you as my spouse to those in it.”

Noticing the way Bucky’s face contorts a bit--held back, though, as if Bucky’s tried hard not to let it--Steve runs over what he’s just said. He sighs. It’s cruel to have to do this. To anyone. They need to put on a show. While it’s as much for Steve as it is for Bucky, Bucky’s the one who everyone’ll be watching. He’s the one being presented, proving that he’s a good spouse to his headship. Has learned to accept his new role in Society. Fits to _Steve’s_ mold. 

“Please don’t.” Bucky warns when Steve opens his mouth. To apologize. Just like Bucky knows he’s going to do. “S’not your fault. This is… just the way the world works. I can do it.” He takes hold of Steve’s hand. Turns it this way and that a bit between his own before bringing it to his lips. “For us. I can do this.”

“We can do it.” Steve nods and sits up, bringing Bucky up with him. “It’s just… we need to follow a bit more protocol?”

“Be more traditional.” Bucky echoes what Steve hasn’t come out and said. “We need to behave more like Society wants us to.”

“Only a little.” He tries to assure him. By extension himself. “We just need to maintain that proper…” Steve trails off. He has no desire to do any of this. This is _their_ marriage. They’ve been adapting to one another quite nicely and Steve sees no reason to change that. “Listen,” He takes Bucky’s hands in his and holds them close to his chest. Right by his heart. “Like our interview? No more than that, okay?”

“But… Steve, if…”

“Mm-mm.” Steve cuts him off. “I made a point of saying that we would do things our way during the interview. And after the little displays we put on at the train station?” When they left for the holiday. Playful hugs and tender kisses. Flashy shows of affection that not all of Society approves of. “No. We’re not going to back down now. We’ll be us. You’re a good spouse to your headship anyway.”

Stars twinkle in Bucky’s eyes. Bright and shimmering; shooting across ocean skies in response to Steve’s compliment. Bucky blushes and leans in to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

“I am, husband? Truly?”

“Yes, baby.” He assures him. “You’ve come so far. I’m very proud of you.”

Bucky picks his head back up. Smiles pull up on his lips. More than one. Because every time his husband seems to gain some sort of control over the action, he loses it again. Praises, soft and kind, Bucky loves them. Flies high at just the slightest inkling of one. 

“Proud of me?” He whispers. “You are?” Bucky rattles his head and sighs. Big grin still on his face. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s just…” Bucky tugs on his ear a little. Sign of his nerves. A little tick that Steve’s used to now. “I never thought such a little thing could mean so much.” He ducks his chin down, unable to keep Steve’s eyes as he goes on. Embarrassed. “I had no idea how much I’d want to make you happy. Make you… proud of me.”

“Oh…” Oh. Bucky wants to make him happy. Proud. No longer just expects to be held to his vows, but truly wants to live up to them. “Come here,” Steve rests his hand at the side of Bucky’s neck and guides him closer. So close his husband is practically in his lap. “You make me happy, Bucky. Always.”

“Mmm.” Bucky hums and presses a kiss into the side of Steve’s neck. “Thank you, husband. You make me happy, too. Just tell me what to do for the dinner party. I’ll be a good husband for you.”

Steve smiles. And then shivers. Despite the pleasant warmth that rivers through him, the chill in the air is tickling his skin a bit too much. 

“How about we start right now?” He suggests. Only wording it as a request since he fully intends on following through either way. “I’m going to go light the furnace. While I’m gone, I want you to get dressed and start unpacking our luggage. When I get back, I’ll help you and we’ll discuss supper. Understand?”

“Yes, Steve.”

He’s already climbing out of the bed. Before Steve can follow, Bucky moves back in to plant a kiss. Right on his mouth. It catches Steve by surprise and that must show. Especially since he chokes on a few words, air getting caught in his throat. All he can do is blink as Bucky chuckles.

“Ah, I can still do that it seems.” Bucky murmurs. “Nice to know.”

“I…” Steve’s heart is ready to burst. That magical look on Bucky’s face, a perfect match for how he makes him feel when he does little things like this. Perhaps this is just a sample of where Bucky goes off to sometimes. Steve chuckles. “Yes. I must be honest with you, my Sweetheart, I do hope it never changes.”

“Nor do I, husband,” He swoops in and steals another kiss as Steve attempts to get out of bed again. Stuns him into another bashful chuckle. “Did you say something about the furnace? It is pretty cold.”

“Um… right.” Steve rattles his head and scoots away from Bucky. Away from his tantalizing husband who makes even the brightest heavens seem dull. “The furnace.”

“And I’ll start unpacking?” Bucky reminds him. Cheeky smirk on his face. “Like you said.”

“Like I said. Yes.” His whole face heats up with a blush. “Okay. I’ll go light the furnace.”

“Right.” 

A hand moves out for him; an offer to help Steve to his feet. Metal and silver, shining in the soft light that manages to come in through the window. Steve takes it, the hand that Bucky would have never presented a few months ago, and accepts the help up. His eyes glance to that spot on Bucky’s shoulder. Where his former House’s crest used to be. His fingers move over it. The empty space.

“Husband?” Bucky’s voice sounds far away, but Steve knows he takes a look at the same spot. “It… it’s alright, Steve. I’m getting used to it.”

Getting used to something he should have never had to get used to. Steve can’t ever give back what he needed to take but maybe he can give him something someday. If Bucky would like it.

“Okay.” Steve whispers. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve dresses then hurries to light the furnace in the lower level. It doesn’t take all that long since it’s been cleaned out already. Truvie must have had someone do that before she left. All Steve needs to do is add the water to the boiler and pack a few shovels of coal after he gets the first layer lit. 

There’s soot all over his hands, which he should probably wash off before going back into the bedroom. Instead, he wipes his hands on the sides of his pants and goes straight there. Anxious to get back to his husband. 

Only when he gets there, Bucky’s not doing as he was told. Looks like he started to. He is dressed, like Steve wanted. In one of Steve’s pull over shirts actually. It’s too big on him, but he looks comfortable, and, easy to admit, adorable. He even has a scarf around his neck to stay warm. There’re a few articles of clothing taken out of the suitcase tossed on the bed, but he’s gotten no further than that. Because he’s sitting on the corner of the bed with one of Steve’s notebooks in his lap.

Steve freezes in the doorway. His next breath colliding with his last. Bucky’s thumbing through the pages. Lightly running curious fingers over the sketches on them. A tremble breaks through Steve’s body.

“B-Bucky…” 

_It’s not what it looks like_ is what he wants to tell him. _I can explain_ is how he can start. _I can stop, I swear_ even works.

Nothing else comes out though. Every thought, every word, they all tangle up inside of him. Clog his throat and all he can do is stand there, gaping at his husband. Who’s now looking at him from the bed. Smirking and all.

“Is this what you’re doing with all these notebooks?” He asks. Bucky glances back to the book on his lap. “These are very good, Steve.” There’s a chuckle at the end of his compliment. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were some sort of closet artist.”

The room feels much too small. Too warm even though the furnace hasn’t had nearly enough time to even reach this room. Images of a prison cell flash in his mind. Tight and cold. Dripping stones of confinement. Or an institute. To be examined. Strapped to a bed while so-called bright minds tinker away on his to figure out why it works this way. 

When he doesn’t answer, Bucky peeks back over at him. The smirk that was there disappears instantly. He slams the book closed and tosses it away as though it’s harmed him. 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” He says. “It was… it was open. Must have… opened during our travels. I… I shouldn’t have looked."

Steve wants to answer. To tell him that the looking is fine. His throat is tight and mouth dry. Everything in his body is protesting. Working against him in the face of a predicament he's utterly unprepared for.

Bucky rises up and comes over. Slow and cautious. Face filled with the same worry mixed in his voice. 

"Husband? I... you know this sort of thing is okay, right?" He asks. Reaching Steve and placing his hands on Steve’s chest. "I know you're not really trying to be an artist. You'd never be so foolish."

His words are like a red hot poker to his skin. Jabbing and twisting and searing in horrible, painful ways. 

"You're wearing my shirt." Steve whispers. Tugs at the bottom of the shirt in question. "Why?"

Bucky blinks at him and takes his hands away. Confused. Steve can tell by that crinkled look on his face.

"Um, I was cold. It... I didn't think you'd mind. I'll take it off."

His hands are already moving to do so. Steve takes hold of them to stop him from taking it off. 

“No, no, keep it on. I like you in it.” Now Bucky looks even _more_ confused. His eyes dart from side to side as though he’s searching the room for some explanation to Steve’s behavior. “You like it?”

Bucky’s lips twist. Still confused. New theme of the evening.

“The shirt?”

“No. Well, sure, but I already figured…” Steve sighs and starts again. Maybe this can be okay. “My..." His voice fades below a whisper, "drawings?”

“Oh!” He lights up with a smile again. It fades. Still unsure how to proceed with this. “I did… do, husband.” A blush breathes across his cheeks. “You… you draw me sometimes.”

That blush moves from Bucky to Steve. Of all the notebooks he could have looked through it was the one that had the most sketches of him. Steve scratches the back of his neck.

“I, I hope that’s okay?” He says. “It’s just… you’re beautiful, Bucky.”

Steve smothers his face with his hands. He just said that out loud. It’s not as though he’s never said such things to his husband before, but this? About his art, his work… what he means is _You’re my muse, Bucky. You make everything beautiful. Bring the sun out on a most dreary day._ And above all _I love you_. 

Fingers, flesh and metal, touch the back of his hands. Still covering his face and wishing they had the power to do as Steve wished and make him disappear. Only Bucky lowers them. And Steve finds himself looking back at a most lovely grin.

“My father used to sketch.” He tells him and Steve lowers his hands all the way. “He did. Not as good as you, but enough so that he was able to paint on my arm. People used to ask who we paid to have it done. Father didn’t like to say. Not because he was ashamed of what he could do, mind you. He was just humble like that. Sometimes.” Bucky chuckles. “He was very smart, my dad. If he knew enough about a subject he could talk almost anyone into the ground. He knew it would be silly and frivolous to put forth any real effort into being an artist, and I know you do too. You’re a respectable gentleman of Society. You know the law better than anyone I’ve ever met. But Father did like to draw and he was proud of that.” He pauses for a moment and shrugs. Awkward and suddenly nervous. “I just… thought maybe you’d like to know that. And I think you’re beautiful, too, Steve.”

For a minute, Steve can only blink at the man in front of him. So strong and brave. Sharing such an intimate detail about his life, his father. It feels as though Steve’s been presented with a most precious gift. A treasured memory, a piece of Bucky’s beating heart that he’s trusted him with. And he realizes that this, the sketches at least, are okay. Bucky likes them. Even when he draws him. 

Somehow, Steve falls even further in love with him.

“Come closer, Bucky.” He whispers. “I’m going to kiss you. And we’ll unpack later.”

Bucky breathes a smile and steps forward for that kiss, only to be walked backwards--lip locked with Steve’s--as they move back to the bed.

***

It might be best that Truvie will be back tomorrow. Steve never wants to stop touching his husband. He’s hungry for him. Always. Even as they sit in the morning room, eating the chicken fricassee and rice they prepared together, all Steve wants to do is put his hands on him. Just to feel him. Hand on his thigh, or at the small of his back, or in Bucky’s own hand. To know that he’s real. 

“I’ve never been to a presentation.” Bucky states in the midst of late supper small talk. “Is it very different from other dinner parties?”

“Not too much,” Steve assures him. Lonely hand reaching for the top of Bucky’s head. His husband smiles as soon as the touch is made. “Only I’ll be the one to welcome our guests while you wait upstairs until the presentation itself. Reporters will be here for that part.”

Bucky nods. 

“I know.” He sighs. “I’ve seen presentation announcements in the papers.”

“They won’t be here to ask questions.” Steve reminds him softly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

A quiet smile, neither happy nor sad, turns up on Bucky’s mouth. Trying to be stronger than he feels at the moment. Not that Steve can truly blame him, having to once again be on display for Society. 

“What else?” He asks.

 

“Well, I’ll present you as my spouse right before our first course is served. Before the main course, we’ll go around to all those attending so I can introduce you. We’ll eat and then move to the drawing room for entertainment. Singing, dancing, talking, or really,” Steve lowers his voice and teases, “gossiping. Because we both know that’s what these things are really for.”

He makes Bucky laugh with that and Steve’s glad. The worry his husband is trying to overcome is starting to get the best of him. 

“How many Houses will be here?”

“Represented? About twenty-five. There should be about forty to fifty people here.” Steve pauses to think about something. “Only a few who’ll be all that critical of us. Most of our guests will be friends.”

“Who?” Bucky asks. Furrow between his eyes getting a bit deeper. Maybe with more worry, or perhaps simple curiosity. “I mean, who do we need to impress most?”

“Well, Judge Stern will be here. He’s always the life of party.” Steve says flatly. The Judge responsible for several of the cases that come his way. “But Judges Fury, Rhodes, and Walters will be here. All old friends of the House. They’ll occupy his time. Lord Killian will be here. So will Lady Hansen, though, as of late she seems to be more on the side _for_ the Tolerance and Acceptance Act.” He chuckles when he remembers someone else who’ll be here that night. “Lord Laufeyson is attending. To be honest, I’m not sure _what_ his opinions are. Never really know with him. And of course, there’s good ol’ Lord Pierce.”

There were two people on the guest list that Steve’s been hoping to avoid having the entertain for the evening; Alexander Pierce being one of them. It’s the reason he planned their dinner party this particular week. Normally, the House Pierce goes overseas for the holidays. Must have been a change of plans this year. How convenient. 

What Steve doesn’t expect is the way Bucky pales at the mention of this. He sits straight up, eyes wide and face struck nervous. There’s still food in his mouth, but he’s stopped chewing. And then swallows with deliberate hesitation. 

“He… he’s going to be here?”

“Yes.” Steve moves his chair closer to him. Puts his hand at the side of Bucky’s neck. “I didn’t want invite him. Same with our wedding. Just something that really couldn’t be avoided. But my parents will here. They’ll soak up his attention, I’m sure. Are you okay, Bucky?”

He can’t help asking. Bucky appears completely thrown off by the mention of having Alexander Pierce here. Steve just thought he knew already. It never occurred to him that he needed to prepare his husband for any of the particular guests.

Bucky closes his eyes and presses Steve’s hand into his neck some more. He releases a long held breath and then smiles for Steve. Forced, Steve thinks. Something’s bothering him.

“Yes. I’m alright, husband. I just… I didn’t realize he’d be here.” 

He swallows hard before letting his eyes open again. Bucky’s still smiling. There’s something not right about it though. 

“Bucky, are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yes, yes.” He nods and takes a quick sip of his wine. Followed by a gulp of water and scoop of rice. All fevered. His husband’s trying to distract himself. “I’m fine.” Bucky pats his mouth with his napkin and goes on to ask, “Is Brock coming?”

The first response Steve’s able to give to him is a blank stare. Not that Bucky can tell either way. He’s staring down at his plate. Suddenly very interested in the food he’s pushing around. It doesn’t look like his meat is giving him any help at the moment. 

“Well, he might.” Steve says slowly. “The invitation was sent to the Lord and Lady Rumlow, but it’s not all the uncommon for him to come in their stead.”

“So they’re going to be here together?”

“What? Who?”

“Brock and Lord Pierce.”

Now Steve’s even more confused. 

“I imagine Lord Pierce will be attending with his wife.”

“No, I…” Bucky cracks an amused grin. Eyes finding something on the table to occupy his gaze. “I know that. I just meant that they’re both going to be here. At the same time.”

“It’s a possibility. Why? Do they know each other?”

As far as Steve knows, neither the House of Pierce nor the House of Rumlow have any sort of connection. 

“Oh. I don’t know.” Bucky looks back at his plate again. “It’s just… um…” He tries to lift his attention back at Steve. Fails to do so for more than just a few seconds. A passing shadow of a glance. “You know, because…” Bucky pauses. Seems to need a moment to choose the right words, “Lord Pierce… he hasn’t had kind things to say about our marriage.” He wipes at his nose then drums idle fingers on the table. Tap, tap, tap. “And, well, the history between Brock and me doesn’t help. So…”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts. Startles his husband enough that Bucky gives a little start when he says his name. 

“Yes?”

Steve reaches across the table to place a hand on Bucky’s with ever-moving fingers. Stills them under his touch. 

“If there’s something you want to tell me, you know you can, right?” 

There’re millions of thoughts running through his mind. Steve can see them. Some of which shine through his eyes for a brief moment before shutting down again. After a few shaky breaths, Bucky sighs.

He says, “I know, husband. I was just… I didn’t expect Lord Pierce to be here. Which made me think of not expecting Brock as well. I’m sorry.” Bucky leans in and kisses him. “I didn’t mean to become so frazzled. I’ll be fine.”

A smile breaks across his face. A streak of sun that chasms along an otherwise cloudy day. 

“Well, to help with that,” Steve takes in a deep breath. It’s not often that he asserts his rights as headship over Bucky. Sure, he’s handed out a few rules. Given him expectations which, so far, Bucky’s lived up to with little problem. But this is something Steve truly feels should be done. For Bucky. “If Lord Rumlow does come to represent his House…”

He trails off. Loses a bit of that confidence he felt just a moment ago. It surges through him again when he catches his husband’s eyes. So open and trusting. Steve’ll never do anything he doesn’t believe is in Bucky’s best interest. Like right now. Bucky’s waiting patiently for him to continue.

“If he’s here, Bucky, I don’t want you near him.” He orders. Plain and simple. With the expectation of being listened to and followed. “You’re not to speak with him, be alone with him, interact with him unless you’re with me. If he tries to get you to, you simply walk away. You owe him no explanations. It doesn’t matter that he’s of higher status. You’ll be honoring and obeying your headship’s wishes. If there’s a problem, he, and by extension anyone else, can take that up with me.” 

Realizing he’s gone on a bit, Steve pauses. Notes the intense way Bucky’s watching him. Almost annoyed. Irritated. Being given direct orders, something Steve really hasn’t done, other than for closeness and affection--nothing Bucky’s ever minded--is new. He nibbles a bit on his lip and Steve gives him time to adjust to the idea of really being told what to do. How to handle a situation, how to react. 

Bucky’s expressed fear at needing to obey his husband, his headship. This is another step for them, and Steve knows he needs to take it slow. Especially if he wants to take it together. 

He swallows hard and pulls his lips in. An attempt to still the irritation and replace it with something else.

Says, “But… Steve…”

“No. No buts.” Steve stops him right there and Bucky’s mouth slams shut. Hard enough that his teeth grind as though he needs to keep his jaw tight in order not to talk. “Baby, that man has a way of getting into your head. And I’m not going to allow that to happen in our home.”

Fiddling with his fingers, Bucky’s gaze has landed on them. He takes in a few breaths that may be the start of unspoken sentences. When he finally lifts his head again, the chagrin has disappeared. Replacing it is panic. 

“Husband?” He whimpers. “I…” Bucky’s lip quivers and he releases a heavy breath. “I mean… I understand. I’ll listen. Obey you. You’re my headship. It’s just…” He needs another second to try and compose himself. His mouth is still making mush of the words trying to come out. “You won’t start…”

“Bucky, come here.”

Steve pushes his chair out and pats his thigh. His husband blinks twice, mouth opening to form a word and instead getting up to do as Steve’s says. Bucky sits down on Steve’s lap. At this angle, it puts him just a bit taller than him. Steve wraps arms around Bucky’s waist and lets his hand run up and down his back. Presses a kiss into his shoulder. 

“This changes nothing, baby.” He murmurs, having figured out where Bucky’s sudden worries have sprung from. “Nothing. I’m not going to start ordering you around. But there are going to be times, like right now, that I expect you to obey me. Just like we discussed, okay?”

Arms wrap around Steve’s neck. Tight, yet shaky. Trembles run through his husband’s body. Feels like he’s crying without the tears.

“Thank you, husband.” He whispers.

His sounds breathy against him. Takes a few more minutes holding on before moving away. 

“Steve, I…” Bucky leans in and kisses him. “I don’t deserve you.” He pushes his lip out a little. “Don’t take dessert away, please?”

Steve chuckles and hugs him again. “Don’t worry, my Sweetheart. I won’t. But why say such things? It’s not because…”

“No, no,” Bucky touches his left arm. “It’s just…” He looks at him as though he’s deciding on what to say next and can’t. Until he finally settles on, “You’re too good to me. No one else would put up with me.”

“Bucky, are you sure everything is alright?”

Steve gets a smile. Tense, but still a smile. And then a quick nod.

“I am, husband. Just a lot to prepare for. That’s all.”

Steve smiles back and let’s it drop. His husband is nervous about their upcoming dinner party. Bucky has every right to be and Steve puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Just one night to get through, my Sweetheart.”

One night with a few unwanted guests. Any other dinners or events they host will likely consist only of friends for company. There’s no avoiding public events. Evenings out. Trips to the theater, galas, or openings. Mixed company of opinions both with and against them.

But Steve doesn’t care about those opinions. 

He believes in his marriage.

More than that, Steve believes in his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thank you so much for being so patient with me while I try to work through so much going on. So, I completely hoped to bang out another chapter to go up with this one since it segues perfectly and contains some pretty significant happenings. Alas, if I did that it'd be even longer of a wait and I didn't want to do that. Also, this way, I'll be able to post another chapter on Friday. 
> 
> I thank you as always for waiting and any encouraging messages that have come my way. And with that I'll leave with with the following images:
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> First we have Steve and Bucky trying to get to the bedroom and can't fast enough ((cue the honeymoon phase finally setting in and them really enjoying each other's company so much ;) ))
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> Bucky talking about their dinner party
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> And Bucky panicking on the inside at the mention of Alexander Pierce 
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> Next we have a shot of Steve kissing up Bucky's body
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> Steve walking in and finding Bucky with his sketchpad 
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> And finally Steve assuring Bucky that everything'll go well at their dinner party
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> Thanks so much for stopping by and I really hope the wait was at least a little worth it! :)


	25. Happy Ides of March!

“I feel like a piece of meat.”

Bucky stands in front of the three-faced full length mirrors. He’s dressed in a black tux. Unlike his wedding tux, this one has a white shirt and a black jacket. Though he prefers black on black like the one who wore for his wedding, Teresa has dressed him this way. Hair slicked back and clean shaved. A bit different than the last time she styled him. For the club opening. 

It’s not been as relaxing as he’d hoped it’d be. Not like it usually is. When fingers gently massage into his scalp and scented shampoos are lathered into his hair. Warm steam filling the room to sooth his skin and oils worked along his body to calm achy muscles. Nails, on his fingers and toes, shined and trimmed for the occasion. Today, Bucky still feels tense. No amount of pampering able to calm jittery nerves. Tiny bugs that have taken home in his body. 

“You _look_ like a piece of meat.” Teresa comments. Hands brushing away something at his shoulder. 

That makes Bucky laugh. If nothing else, at least he’s able to make her feel comfortable to joke around. 

“I guess that’s all well,” He sighs. “They’re all going to be looking at me.”

“Aren’t you used to that, m’Lord?”

“Not this way.”

More than true. Bucky’s used to be photographed and interviewed, sure, but he’s not just going to be photographed tonight. Tonight, Bucky’s going to be watched. Judged. Some of the oldest and highest Houses of Society will be here, in the home he shares with his husband just to have eyes on him. Steve, too. They’ll be watching him as well. Making sure he’s taken proper headship over him.

Worse than that, Alexander and Brock will be here. Together. After several months of silence, they’re going to want something. Bucky’s sure of it. Dust to be shaken off of the knowledge he has. Knowledge he has no intention of sharing with anyone, least of all Alexander Pierce or Brock Rumlow.

His heart pounds everytime he thinks about it. Which is quite often. Bump, bump, bump; while he’s at work. Beat, beat, beat; whenever he’s with Steve. Thump, thump, thump; in the middle of the night. True and tormenting thoughts that sneak in when restless minds will not sleep. 

Right now. 

_You should have told him_. It berates like it’s been doing all week long.  
_I know. I…_

But he just couldn’t. Not that night, not any time after. Bucky can’t bare the thought of letting Steve down. Panics at the idea of it. Of his husband finding out that he’s given away the first secret he ever shared. The first piece of trust that Steve bestowed to him and Bucky just handed it off to a man who would use any little bit of information to destroy Steve and the rest of the House of Rogers.

It makes his stomach hurt. Twists it up with painful knots laced with poison. Steve’s said he’s proud of him. Happy with him. Bucky doesn’t want that to go away. 

_Then tell him._ His heart once again insists. Set on repeat. _Tell him. Tell him. Tell him._  
_He’ll hate you, you know._ Some other part of him says. Bucky can’t quite figure out where it comes from. _He’ll hate you and you’ll lose him when he finds out._

“It was an accident.” Bucky whispers to his reflection.

The image in the glass stares back at him. Cruel and vindictive. Reflection belonging to that part of him unwilling to let Steve know what he’s done.

“Beggin’ your pardon, m’Lord?”

Bucky rattles his head. Changes the person in the mirror back to him. Someone he recognizes. 

“My apologies,” He says. “Just… talking to myself.”

“Self encouragement?” She offers as she adds a dab of cologne to the side of his neck. 

He smirks and nods. An acceptable answer, he supposes. This night needs to be perfect. Bucky needs to be perfect. Needs to pull this off flawlessly and show everyone he’s devoted to Steve. 

The knock at the door startles him. He almost laughs. Bucky hasn’t felt so jumpy since the afternoon of his wedding. 

“Yes?” He answers. 

It’s Truvie and she steps in all the way as soon as she knows it’s okay to do so. 

“Most of your guests have arrived, m’Lord.” She informs him. “Lord Rogers has asked that I see if you’re nearly ready.”

Bucky looks to Teresa. A part of him hopes she’ll say they’re a long way from finished. He knows that’s hardly the case. She offers him a soft smile. Might know the wishful thoughts that have just gone through his mind.

“Perfect timing.” She answers Truvie. “For me anyway. I’m finished.”

She gives his suit jacket one last tug, chasing away any stubborn wrinkles that might have tried to sully his look, and double checks his bow tie. With an approving nod, Teresa steps away from him.

“You’re all set, m’Lord.”

“Did things work out with your friend, Teresa?”

Bucky’s not sure where the thought comes from. Just a distraction. Anything to keep him from thinking about what he’s going to do. 

“I… I’m sorry?”

“The last time you were here,” Bucky feels a quiver run through him. “You said something about you and your friend courting. Did you?”

“Oh.” Teresa blushes as she packs her things. Shampoos, brushes, clippers, oils and the like--all back in her carriers. “Evelyn and I are doing well. We’re speaking of marrying. If we’re given our families blessings.” She smiles at him. “Your good word has given me many new opportunities, Lord Barnes. I thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bucky would say more. If only to keep engaged in conversation. Time is not on his side, it would seem. Nor is Truvie. Or she is. Bucky can’t tell.

“Come, Teresa.” Truvie instructs before any more discussion can be held. “I’ll show you out.”

A meaningful look is passed in Bucky’s direction. From both ladies. One sympathetic, the other knowing. Bucky caught red-handed by Truvie trying to stall by any means necessary. 

“Many well wishes tonight, Lord Barnes,” Teresa says as Truvie leads her out. “Good luck.”

Throat tight, he means to give thanks, only nothing’s able to come out. All Bucky manages to do is give a little wave through the mirror. 

“Lord Roger’ll be coming to fetch you soon, sir.” Truvie tell him as she closes the door behind her. “You’ll do fine.”

Soft murmurs from down in the front parlor make their way up to Bucky. Sneaking in under the sealed door and whispering around him. Their guests--Steve’s guests really--making small talk. Greeting one another, some meeting for the first time, others getting reaquainted. 

All those people down there. Here in his home, just waiting for him to make a mistake. Which isn’t entirely true. Like Steve said, there’re only a few Houses being represented that are really all that interested in how he and Steve truly present themselves. The rest will be friends of Steve’s House. 

“Our House.” Bucky whispers to himself. “Ours.”

He fans his fingers out and peers down at his wedding ring. Platinum against metal. He can’t feel it against his finger. Not until he uses his thumb and index finger of his right hand to turn it a few times. It winks at him as it goes around; the outward symbol of the life he’s given over to Steve. Nothing compared to how he feels inside. He still has so much more to give. What’s so surprising to him, even now, is how much he _wants_ to give it to him. How fast he’s fallen so much in love with Steve. Such a short stretch of time. Amazing.

The mirror calls back to him. Reminds him that tonight he needs to behave appropriately for that love to matter to the rest of them. Not that it ever will for some of them. A few in particular. Those he needs to alter his behavior for.

Bucky draws in a deep breath. Then another. And another. Oxygen for bravery that falls very short. His eyes close.

 _If you’re not going to tell him,_ His stomach taunts, _then at least stay calm for him._  
_I know, I know._ Bucky whines. _I’m trying_.

The lips at his neck startle him. The arm around his waist even more. Bucky’s eyes pop open and he jerks away. With no where to go since his husband’s got that arm still locked around him.

“Oh!” Bucky gasps. “Steve!”

Steve chuckles.

“My apologies, good sir.” He says. “It seems I also possess the ability to be sneaky.”

Bucky harrumphs and shakes his head. “I never did it on purpose, husband.”

“Are you accusing _me_ of such motive?” 

A smile tugs up at Steve’s jesting. That’s before the mirror is kind enough to show him what his husband looks like. Divine in his tux, as usual. Steve always steals Bucky’s breath away. Swoops in so unexpectedly and snatches it right from his lungs. But it’s not just the sunlight in his smile tonight, or the sparkle in those shoreline eyes. He’s dressed to match; black and white, bowtie done up properly and hair slicked back. The difference is, Teresa didn’t shave the beard Steve has grown in over the holiday as Bucky suspected she would. It’s been trimmed, neatened, and Bucky’s sure it’ll be gone before Steve settles back into their regular routine of things, but right now he just can’t get over how incredible it makes him look. 

Bucky’s reflection catches eyes with Steve’s. His husband is grinning, but Bucky feels almost light headed. He breathes out deeply and Steve must not realize since he runs his hand down his arm.

“Mm.” Steve’s mouth vibrates against Bucky’s neck. “You look phenomenal. I could eat you up.”

“Please?” Bucky whimpers. 

Steve moves away. The only reason Bucky even notices is the sudden loss of his warmth. He whines a bit and reaches out for his husband. Needing him close.

“We can’t, Bucky.” Steve says. “You do remember what we’re doing tonight, don’t you?”

Tonight? Oh. That’s right. 

“I suppose so.” He grimaces. “We could steal a few moments, can’t we?”

Turning, Bucky faces Steve to peer up at him. Eyes wide and weepy. One of those looks he knows is quite unfair since Steve both loves and has trouble resisting them. True in the moment as well when a breath seems to catch in Steve’s throat. He swallows and gently touches the side of Bucky’s face. 

Eyes falling closed, Bucky steps up closer. Whispers, “Please?”

The word is barely out and Steve is already kissing him. Hurried. As though it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

He breaks away quickly. Breathless and already flushed. He’s got his hands at Bucky’s shoulders to keep him at arm’s length. Steve shakes his head and snickers.

“You’re a bad influence,” He mutters before smiling and adding a peck to Bucky’s nose. “It’s time, baby.”

“I know.” Bucky sighs. Heaving all the desires right out with it. Well, maybe not all of them. One look at Steve again and, no, definitely not all of them. “Steve, is, is Brock…”

“Yes. He’s here. You remember what I said?”

“Yes, husband. I remember.”

This won’t be easy, not with Alexander Pierce here especially, but Bucky’ll be a good husband to his headship. Honor and obey. He’ll listen to what Steve wants him to do. Or, as the case is, not do. 

“Okay. We can do this, Bucky. We’ll be alright.”

Steve says this as though they both need the reminding. Perhaps they do. Steve must be nervous as well. His hands are rather stiff. Right before he turns to exit the room, Bucky takes hold of his right one and kisses it. Gentle reminder. They’re together. 

He receives a smile for that. Fresh morning sun that breathes quickly across his husband’s face before he leads Bucky into the hall, leaving him in the middle of it while he goes on to the top of the stairs. Nerves still prick at his insides. Bubble up inside his stomach and make his throat feel much too tight. 

They’ve been over the details of the presentation several times. Steve will formally welcome all their guests. _His_ guests, since he’s headship. Thank them all for coming. And because it’s Steve, he’ll probably…

“I must apologize for the long delay in having this dinner,” He says. Bucky chuckles to himself. His husband is too adorable. “I appreciate the understanding while I took time to organize this evening. As is with all important things in life, I prefered to take my time in getting better acquainted with my marriage.” Steve needs to stop for a moment since he gets a polite and soft round of applause. “So, without further adieu, I thank you all for coming and may I present to Society, under my headship, my spouse…” 

Bucky is about to step forward, waiting for Steve to say his name to officially get this presentation underway. Only Steve’s paused. His eyes scan those below, people Bucky is unable to see yet, before he glances in his direction. Steve smiles softly and turns back to those he’s been addressing.

“Pardon me,” He chuckles softly, gaze shifting once again towards Bucky as though he’s sharing a joke with him that he’s forgotten to let Bucky in on. “I’d like to present to Society, under my headship, Lord James Buchanan Barnes, my spouse… and husband.”

Bucky’s already stepping forward when he says that last part. The husband part. The part Steve added on his own. Which he’s most definitely not supposed to say. It makes him trip over his own feet. 

Tonight is not a night about companionship. It’s about being a spouse to Steve’s headship. Yet Steve’s gone and announced Bucky as both. Made both equally as important in their marriage. 

There are murmurs coming from down below. People just as stunned as Bucky is by Steve’s announcement. Bucky’s stopped right before he’d be in view. His husband holds his arm out to beckon him forward. Bucky takes in another deep breath, unsure how to go forward from here on.

 _It’s not up to you anymore_. His brain reminds him. _Just follow Steve’s lead._  
_Yes. Right_. Bucky agrees. _Steve_.

He steps up to Steve, who loops their arms and smiles down at him. Looks as though he might lean in and kiss him, but his husband holds back in the face of all their guests watching. 

“Say hello, Bucky.” He whispers. 

A reminder. They’ve been through this. That’s what’s expected of him. Still looped in Steve’s arm, Bucky turns enough so that he’s facing their audience and waves. Arm high up in the air and hand moving gently from side to side. 

Easy, familiar. Even more so when a round of clapping breaks finally breaks out--the stupor of Steve’s presentation officially worn off--and cameras start flashing. Bright lights happy to say hello no matter what they do to their eyes. Bucky knows the game. Knows how to play this part and play it well. It might be a little different, being spouse to Steve’s headship, but he can pull it off. With Steve in the lead, it’s even a little easy.

Bucky follows him down the stairs, trying not to make eye contact with those he doesn’t already know. Not until Steve says so. Sarah and Joseph are there, and they smile warmly at him. He spots Sam Wilson with them. He tosses a happy wink in their direction. They don’t stop to speak with them. Wouldn’t be proper with so many introductions to get done. 

Sam, Bucky’s already met on their wedding night, not to mention early mornings when he’d much rather be curled up in bed still sleeping before needing to rise for work. But when Bucky wakes before Steve has come home from his run with Sam he’s unable to fall back into a restful snooze and sleep fails him. Simpler to start on coffee than wrestle with uncooperative sleep. Bucky’ll greet Steve and Sam with two cups--he knows how they both take it--when they get back. Sam never fails to invite Bucky to come along the following morning despite Bucky’s ever grimacing answer. 

They spend only a few moments speaking with Lord Killian, even less speaking with Judge and Lady Stern. Reaching Brock, Steve doesn’t even let Bucky say anything other than his quick greeting before moving them along to the next person. Who Bucky knows in passing.

“Judge Rhodes, so nice of you to come,” Steve says when they reach him. “I’d like to introduce you to my husband, Bucky.”

“Judge Rhodes?” He laughs. “Since when do you call me that?”

Steve chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry, Rhodey. Just figured with the company and all. So good of you to come.”

“As if I’d have missed it. _Someone_ needs to help Pepper out every now and then.” 

They both share a smile and look further into the parlor. Bucky’s not quite sure who they’re looking at, but they’re both laughing, too. 

“Bucky, it’s an honor to finally meet you.” Rhodey is holding his hand out. Unlike Judge Stern, Judge Rhodes is all too willing to shake his hand even though he’s of lower status. Bucky takes it. 

Bucky’s chest feels tight. This is one of Steve’s friends. He knows that. Older than them, yes, but a friend of the House of Rogers. But Bucky knows this man because he was one of the three judges who sat on the bench during his father’s trial.

“Judge Rhodes, the honor is mine.” Bucky replies softly. 

“The late Lord Barnes spoke of you often,” He says. Face serious, voice low. “You know, between you and me, Lord Barnes, if I was at liberty to tell you that Judge Fury and I searched long and hard for loopholes in the case against George Barnes, I would. And that most of his department attempted to speak up for him only to be silenced by those higher up. I would also tell you that we were in the process to have the case sent to Lord Rogers to have it overturned. Alas, I am not at liberty to discuss such things with you, so I won’t.”

Rhodey stands up straight and fixes the black ascot around his neck to make sure it’s still tucked neatly under the teal vest of his evening suit. All Bucky can do is blink. Those words, what Rhodey’s just said to him, his father hadn’t been alone after all. People tried to help him. Not those who could, not enough anyway, but people had tried. The world _hadn’t_ abandoned him.

“I…” Bucky gasps. “Thank you, Judge Rhodes.”

“For what?” He rattles his head as though surprised by what Bucky’s said. “And please, it’s Rhodey. Anyway, you gentlemen still have a lot of people to greet. Don’t let me keep you.”

Bringing his hand to the tip of his forehead as though to touch the brim of a hat, Rhodey smiles and moves on his way despite tradition calling for Steve to lead Bucky away first. 

“Do you need a minute?” Steve murmurs to Bucky the second they’re, somewhat, alone. “I can…”

“No.” Bucky whispers. “No, I… I’m okay.”

Truly he is. A little overwhelmed with this new information, maybe, but okay. All this time he’s felt utterly betrayed by those who his father had counted friends. Perhaps that’s not the case. 

After checking another two times to make sure that he’s okay, Steve continues along with their introductions. Dr. Banner is there, attending with Lady Ross. When they move along, Steve whispers to Bucky that the two of them have been dancing around a courtship for years despite their even status. Bucky’s introduced to Lady Foster, whose attention is quickly occupied by Dr. Odinson.

Steve tenses his grip around Bucky when they approach Alexander Pierce and his wife. Enough so that it’s likely he doesn’t feel the way Bucky tenses as well. 

“Ah, good evening, Lord Rogers.” Alexander greets as they come forward. “The way your marriage has been progressing, I wasn’t sure if you’d _ever_ present your spouse to Society.”

Clearing his throat, and making a sound as though he needs to cough when he doesn’t, Steve gives a curt nod of his head.

“Yes, well, as I’ve said in the past, and during my announcement, given the short length of our engagement, I thought it better to take a bit more time to grow used to one another.”

Alexander gives him a smug grin before letting his gaze trail over Bucky and then back to Steve.

“You and your House have _always_ been one to do things your own way no matter _what_ tradition dictates. Just look at your childhood.”

“What _about_ my childhood?”

“I just mean the secrecy surrounding it. The disappearing act.” Once again Alexander’s eyes fall on Bucky. A shiver crawls up his spine. He’s talking directly to him, Bucky’s sure of it. “After all, you were born to one of the most noble and prestigious Houses of Society and yet your parents kept you hidden. Unlike Lord Barnes here after his unfortunate… _accident_?” He reaches out to graze Bucky’s left arm, but Steve moves Bucky away before his fingers can touch him. “Well, the House of Barnes hardly has as much notoriety and they had this one in the spotlight.”

“Perhaps my House felt it better suited for me to grow up _away_ from the prying eyes and opinions of those that did not matter.” Steve retorts. “To see the world through my _own_ eyes and not Society’s.”

As Alexander goes on to say something else, something just as rude guised in rose petals and scented as such as well, Bucky simply stands there in silence. Not only has he not been officially introduced, he’s _technically_ not been given permission to speak. Not that Steve really wants such protocol, has told him as much, but Bucky’s not risking such a thing in front of this man. So, like Lady Pierce, he just stays quiet. 

Only, it’s nothing like Lady Pierce for while he’s embraced with Steve and happy in his husband’s company she stands stiff and still at her headship’s side. Fingers laced in her lap in front of her, chin lowered, eyes downcast. She’s close to Alexander, but about two inches _behind_ him. An old position to be in. Outdated. Not even Bucky’s grandparents, the set he knew, practiced such a custom. 

“Lord Pierce, the reason I’ve come over, as I’m sure you know, since you know tradition very much, is to introduce you to my husband, Lord Barnes.”

“Yes, your spouse.”

“My _husband_ ,” Steve corrects. “More important to me. Bucky, you may say hello.”

First taking a quick glance up to see Steve’s jaw hard and firm, Bucky then nods and fixes a weak smile on his face.

“Lord Pierce,” He says quietly. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Hm. Lord Barnes, I trust your time with the House Rogers has been quite rewarding.”

“It…”

“That’s enough, Bucky.” Steve interrupts. And Bucky falls silent. “We need to be on our way. Lord Pierce, I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Steve wastes no further time there and guides Bucky away quickly. Bucky wants to ask if he’s alright. Judging by the storm on his face, the answer is no. Unfortunately, Bucky himself is plagued with thunder clouds of his own. Bolts of horrified lightning that strike down at his insides in mean, twisted blazes at thoughts of the way Alexander spoke. Those little things meant to bother Steve and ring familiar to Bucky. 

The painful smolder in his belly lessens when he catches a glimpse of the grin that pulls up on Steve’s face as the get closer to the next couple they’re going to be greeting. At first, Bucky can’t imagine what’s suddenly calmed his husband so greatly. That is, until Steve breathes out a name.

“Peggy,” He whispers, letting go of Bucky’s arm for the first time since he twined them together. Bucky feels awfully alone when Steve takes a few steps without him and embraces the lovely brunette in his arms. The two of them kissing cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Peggy laughs and swipes her fingers across a bit of Steve’s dark, golden facial hair.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be, my darling?” She asks.

“Oh. No, I…” Steve smiles. Lights up like a bright morning after a night of stormy weather. “Of course not. I’m just… glad to see you.”

“After speaking with Lord Pierce? I would imagine.” Peggy tsks at him with a scolding sort of shake of her head. “That man has always been a thorn in your side.”

Steve chuckles. “This is why I need you, Peg.”

Bucky’s stomach folds over itself as Steve goes on to say hello to Peggy’s husband, Gabe--pleasant man with a bright smile and a hearty laugh. The three of them quickly lose themselves in catching up, but Bucky can’t help noticing the way Steve’s eyes keep wandering back to Peggy. The way he looks at her, with such admiration and adoration. Steve loves her.

He planned on marrying her, Bucky knows that. Just like Steve knows Bucky and Talia had once talked about courting. Never as seriously as Steve and Peggy, but the consideration had been there. Still, there’s something… unsettling about watching Steve smile at Peggy like that. About hearing him tell her he needs her so easily. A second nature comment that comes out like the wind. Something inside Bucky hurts. Jealousy. 

Steve’s distracted by his company for no more than a few minutes. Though, for his jealous husband it seems an eternity before he remembers he’s married and focuses any attention back on him. When he does, however, Steve’s smile melts into Bucky’s insides. Warm and tender. Like Bucky’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen even though he’s only been out of his sights for mere moments.

“Peggy, Gabe, I’d like you to meet my husband,” He loops their arms again and has Bucky stand right up next to him. Their bodies leaning into each other. Rather than keeping their arms like that, Steve wraps one around his body instead, hands resting on his shoulders.“This is my Bucky.”

All at once, whatever jealousy Bucky might have felt a moment ago is seeped up by the warmth that rivers through him. The muscles in his mouth spring a life of their own. No matter how hard he tries to reign his smile in so that he can say something back to Peggy and Gabe--who have both said _hello_ and _pleased to meet you_ respectively--he can’t. Steve’s gone and done it again. Most unexpectedly. Perfect words. Perfect timing.

“Bucky?”

“I…” He first glances up at his husband. Wants so badly to cuddle into him and just hug him. Make the world around them disappear. “Yes.”

Steve chuckles. Asks, “What?”

 _Please wake up_. Bucky begs his brain.

It’s very sweet enough to snap back to reality for at least a moment. Must realize that if the wrong person catches or notices his sudden daze they may misinterprets it as him not paying attention to his headship. 

_Say hello to the Lord Jones and Lady Carter-Jones_. His brain reminds him.

“Um, my apologies,” He clears his throat and tries again. “It’s very lovely to know you, Lady--”

“Oh no,” Peggy stops him. Going so far as holding her hand up and everything. “I’m Peggy. Steve’s husband is not about to call me Lady anything.”

“Peggy then.” Bucky agrees. “Steve speaks an awful lot about you.”

Which is true. Most stories revolving around Steve’s childhood somehow involve Peggy or their friend Tony, sometimes both. Tender tales that come out soft and loving over morning coffee or during bedsheet stories. 

Right now though, Steve’s mouth has fallen open as though he means to defend himself from some heinous accusation. Before he can, Peggy is laughing again. 

“Is that right?” She wonders. “And what, pretell, has he been telling you, Bucky?”

“Many things, Peggy. But I believe my favorite story is when you took the ladder away from the tree house so that Steve couldn’t get down.”

Gabe bursts out laughing and Steve quickly hides his face in Bucky’s hair, mumbling something as he does. None of them quite catch it.

“What was that, Steven?” She snickers. “I’m hoping it was something along the lines of ‘Don’t worry, Peggy, I told him you did it because I _insisted_ that I could climb down without it and then tried to _jump_ from the tree because, no, no, I _couldn’t_ climb down without the ladder.”

“Why no,” Bucky twists a bit so that he can get a look at his husband. Still trying to hide behind him. “No, I’m afraid he didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh is that so?” Peggy’s now pursing her lips at Steve even though Steve’s doing his best to shrink away from her scrutiny. “Lord Barnes, I believe you and I are going to be the most excellent of friends.”

“Gabe?” Steve whines. “Help me out here?”

Clearly fighting back a fit of laughter, Gabe holds out both his hands before putting his arms around Peggy’s waist. 

“This is out of my hands.” He says. “You’ve dug your own grave.”

Steve gives a tiny pout and quickly loses himself in witty banter with his old friend. Once again seemingly forgetting for a few moments that anyone else is around. Bucky is assured by Gabe that this happens all the time and that in just a few short minutes the world will reappear for them. 

Which he’s right about. When it does happen, quicker than Bucky expected, not only does Gabe smile and flick his eyebrows up at him before pressing his lips into Peggy’s temple, Steve lights up as though he hasn’t seen him in years. 

The last couple Steve presents him to is Lady Potts and Lord Stark, who greets them with _hey! there they are! The big guy and his ball and chain!_ To which his wife and headship promptly flicks his ear for.

“ _Tony_ ,” She scolds. “Don’t be rude.”

“Ah!” Tony rubs at the assaulted ear. “Aw, come on, Steve knows I’m only fooling. Besides, everyone thinks I’m a live-wire! I’m a regular swell!”

“You’re a regular hillbilly.” Lady Potts sighs. “Please ignore him.”

“Lady Potts,” Steve rattles his head and says with a smile instead,”Pepper, I’ve been doing it for years.” Tony grunts, “Hey!” And Steve goes on to say, “Pepper, Tony, meet my husband, Bucky.”

Pepper replies first, “Bucky, I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

“Lady Potts, the pleasure is mine.” 

She asks him to call her Pepper; Bucky grins and does so before Tony steps forward. More serious now, eyes happy and glistening behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses that Bucky’s quite sure he doesn’t really need. He takes his hand in a hearty shake and Tony pats his shoulder.

“Good to meet you, Buck,” He tells him. “Really.” Tony leans in close and quickly adds, soft and quiet, “He’s a real swell guy, your husband, don’t let him shut you out when he needs you most.”

Tony moves away from him and goes on to boast about some bread and cheese fountain that had been at the club opening. Speaks as though he’s not said a sentimental word at all. 

Looking up at Steve, it seems clear that he’s sure he might have missed a little something that’s just gone on between the two of them. Bucky simply smiles and rests his head on his shoulder. A bit of affection is sure to be okay. Steve did say he wanted to be themselves.

True to form, Steve follows up the sweetness with his own by adding an arm around his shoulder. Only that doesn’t seem to be enough for his husband since he suddenly moves away to take his face in his hands and kiss him. Cameras flash again. Reporters still there to capture such a moment. A spectacle. In their home. One that steals the next few beats from Bucky’s heart and makes the world fade away.

That is, until the kiss ends and it crashes back around them again. People staring, watching their little show. Some of whom are most definitely not pleased. But Steve smiles at him. He’s doesn’t even take a second to glance at those watching. There’re a few nerves hugging the corners of his mouth, but he’s smiling the nonetheless. At his own act of defiance. Which he doesn’t address. Steve simply stands up straight and waves towards the other room.

“If everyone would be so kind as to join my husband and me in the dining room,” He announces, “I believe the first course is ready to be served.”

A low murmur starts up again as their guests begin their shuffle into the dining hall. Conversations resuming, others picking up in light of Steve’s little stunt, if one can even begin to call it that. 

Steve’s hand is at the small of Bucky’s back. Reassuring safety. He’s doing fine. Even when Alexander passes and his husband doesn’t give him a passing glance. Bucky can’t help himself. Alexander looks quite offended while Lady Pierce--whose name Bucky still hasn’t learned--has a blush that still hasn’t faded.

Once the last person has gotten into the dining room, Bucky is about to follow himself, only to be stopped. His first thought is that he’s made a mistake. Of course he has. It was bound to happen. He’s made a move without the direction of his headship.

He glances up to apologize just to find a sparkle in Steve’s eyes. 

“Did I…” Bucky rattles his head. Gobbles that question back down and goes with another. “What is it, husband?”

“Come with me,” He instructs. Grin shining like morning dew. “We still have a few people to greet.”

“We… do?”

One glance around the parlor tells Bucky that’s not true. They’re currently the only two occupants of the room. The walls don’t seem all that upset that all those people have left. They’re used to the quiet intimacy. 

“We do. This way.” Steve still has his hand on his back and ushers him towards the entryway.

That mischievous smirk is still on his husband’s face and it’s making it quite hard for Bucky to look away from him. Curiosity has him unable to pay all that much attention to where they’re headed. Happens to simply be the the doors to the entryway. Steve has him stop and stand to the side just before they reach them.

“Steve?”

“Okay, I know this night is supposed to be about my headship over you.”

Bucky nods. “Right?”

“But, honestly, I’d rather tonight be about us.” Yes. Steve’s said things like this before. This marriage is about them. Each other. Despite what Society and tradition might try to dictate. “So I thought it’d be nice to include a little something for you as well.”

Without any further explanation, Steve pulls the doors open and reveals the rest of their guests. And just like that, Bucky understands.

“Steve!” Bucky shrieks, passing looks between his husband and Talia, Clint and Maria--smiling at him from in the front entryway. Another world that Bucky’s barely a part of. Out there, waiting for him. “I… I…”

“You should go say hello to your friends,” Steve laughs and gives his behind a little slap. “Go on now.”

The momentum of Steve’s gentle slap gets Bucky moving. Legs happily catching up with his brain and taking him into his friend’s arms. Talia first. He just can’t help it. Seeing her there. Perhaps this is a bit how Steve feels when he see’s Peggy. They’re crying blissful greetings. Talia wraps him up and kisses his cheek. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asks even though he already knows the answer.

“We were invited of course.” She answers with an added tickle to his side. 

Bucky yelps and jerks away. Pouts at her a bit and just doesn’t care when he lets go of his laughter.

“Oh come on!” He bites down on his grin. “You haven’t seen me in _months_ and you need to go ahead and do that first chance?”

“Would you expect less, James?” Talia practically sings, tucking some of her hair neatly behind her ear. “More to the point, would you _want_ anything less?”

Another sheepish grin takes his lips and Bucky shakes his head. Sways side to side even. Too excited to see them to care about the child-like image it might bestow upon him. Talia’s hand reaches for the side of his face. She cups gently and Bucky leans forward and rests his head on her shoulder. 

“No, Talia,” He sighs. Happy and content. “I suppose not.” 

He turns his gaze to Maria and, upon seeing the pursed smile on her face, Bucky straightens to open his arms and shrugs. “Hi?”

Maria laughs. Lets go of the hold on her smile and, instead of stepping into Bucky’s offer of a hug, pulls on the end of his suit jacket--quite pleased with the loving attention from her--and brings him closer to her. 

“So good to see you, Bucks,” She murmurs when they’re embraced. “We’ve missed you. Very much.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Did you enjoy Christmastide with your House?”

The House Hill still goes away every year. Skiing. To the same place it all happened. But Bucky’d rather not think about it. And anyway, Maria understands the question. Bucky’s not just asking about the holiday itself, but the day she gets back. Immediately following Boxing Day. Because that’s the evening… 

“It wasn’t the same,” She admits. “Going to Shield without you.”

He nods. It hasn’t been something he told Steve about. Not something he was completely forthcoming about. Not truly lied since Steve didn’t really ask. Maybe by omission. The evening after Boxing day, he always went with Talia, Clint and Maria to Shield. The underground club away from Society and its expectations. Controversial styles and untraditional music. Danced the night away. One last hurrah for the year. 

Maria puts her hand at the side of his right arm and gives him a sweet squeeze. 

“I hope you enjoyed your time without us.”

All of Bucky’s face turns red. Just the thought of what occurred over Christmastide. Of ruffled blankets and sweaty bodies, giving himself to his husband, his husband giving himself to him, tasting those lovely words, so sweet on his lips. He tries to peek over his shoulder at Steve without actually trying to look over at him.

“I did,” He whispers, and adds with voice and hands. “I had a lovely time.”

When he glances back up at Clint, and sees the delighted smile on his face, Bucky dives into his arms. 

“I’m so happy you’re here.” He says.

He feels him chuckle.

“You know I can’t hear what you’re saying.” Clint says out loud.

“I know.” Bucky whispers. “But I love you guys.”

Clint squeezes tighter and murmurs the sentiment back. A bit different. _We love you, too_. Seems someone must have signed it for him. 

The room, it would seem, is glowing all around them. Happy to take in this unexpected surprise. By now, Bucky assumes, he really shouldn’t be all the taken back by Steve’s gestures. Steve. Steve and his affection. Steve and his ever willingness to change the world for him. 

Bucky turns now to face him again. His husband. So wonderful. His husband. Who he loves more and more with each passing day. 

“Steve…” He breathes.

“I’m sorry to cut this short,” Steve says. Apologizing as though he hasn’t already given him something so wonderful. Again. “But we really should move along to the dining room. I believe I’ve already pushed tradition to the max.”

The next few moments move by in a haze. Bucky’s somewhat aware that his friends all give Steve respectful bows of their heads. He thinks Steve is getting through a few signed sentences as he welcomes them and waves them on into their home. It’s very possible that Talia makes a quiet observation to him personally. Something about the adorable way he and Steve look at each other. 

All Bucky can pay attention to is Steve. His arms long to hold him. Bucky doesn’t deny them the chance as they move to the dining room to join their guests. He wraps them around his husband’s waist. Maybe the words _thank you, husband_ come out. He’s certainly thinking them. They’re loud enough in his head that even if his brain won’t send them to his mouth Steve might hear them anyway. Perhaps Steve does. His lips do find the top of his head just before they reach the dining room. 

Two hours later, the early evening is a glimmer of chatter. Of clinking silverware and shining glasses. Muted laughter and polite dinner table discussions. 

Steve had the wise sense to have seating arranged quite meticulously. Brock is no where near them. Not even in Bucky’s sights. He can hear him every now and then. Loud bursts of his typical laughter, probably at someone elses expense. Alexander Pierce sits with Sarah and Joseph across from Judges Stern, Fury, Rhodey, and Walters. They’re all towards the middle of the table. Just near enough so that if they pay attention their words can be heard. 

Since Bucky and Steve are surrounded by their own personal friends, what happens on other ends of the table isn’t much of a care. By the third course--broiled salmon, that admittedly came out much better than when Bucky had tried his hand at the meal--it’s quite clear that their two set of friends get along famously. 

Now that their dinner party is out of the way, it’d be acceptable for them to have them all over. However, given that their basis for getting along so well fall alongs the lines of Talia saying _You should have seen it. Bucky had no idea how deep the puddle was so when he tried to jump into it, he ended up with water all the way up to his knees_ and Sam following up with _And this one passes me jogging every day for over a week until one day I see him trying to race a dog. I’m serious, a **dog**._

Most of the dinner consists of Bucky turning red and Steve hiding his face and their friends laughing as they continue exchanging stories about one another. 

Maria shares with them the story of Bucky’s horrible attempt at jumping over a fence post at the House Barton’s farmhouse (not nearly as refine and exquisite as the House of Roger’s farmhouse) which resulted in him falling very short. Peggy and Tony reminisce in the tale of Steve’s brilliant beyond brilliant scheme to sneak out one night while vacationing together to go night swimming since their day had been cut short by a sudden rain storm. Apparently they barely made it out the door before getting caught and had the spend the rest of the following day indoors. 

“Oh that’s nothing,” Clint says out loud, still signing as he does, “Bucky _always_ found ways to get us in trouble.”

He continues only with his hands and Bucky groans when he realizes what story’s being told. His face fall into his husband’s shoulder as Talia translates the story of Bucky teaching him how to dance and breaking into the school’s gymnasium for room to practice. They were caught in minutes and had to each write reports on the values and importance of rules. 

“It was horrible.” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s sleeve. Hopefully the sleeve doesn’t mind all that much. Steve doesn’t seem to. “I wasn’t allowed out for a whole week.”

“Oh never mind that you broke in somewhere you shouldn’t have been?” Steve chuckles.

Bucky peeks up at him. “Well, we needed room.”

Steve laughs. Bucky laughs, too. So does everyone. Tony comments that _maybe these two knuckleheads are perfect for each other._ Bucky steals a glance at his husband. Who’s already looking at him. They blush. The stories go on.

Dinner goes on fairly well. Could be better. Would be, if not for the conversations near the end of it, when dessert dishes are nearly empty.

Bucky wouldn't notice it at all. He’s actually having fun. On this end of the table. With permission from his headship to have a relaxed atmosphere. Mixed company. Friends among friends. Constellations that make up the nighttime sky. 

It’s Steve though. He’s no longer participating. Bucky’s not sure how long his attention’s been focused elsewhere, but when he realizes this, he diverts his own concentration. Steve seems to be listening in on the conversation his parents are having with Alexander and Judge Stern. And with some doctor from the House of Faustus. Judge Stern is sniggering about something. A smug look on his face. Same look matched on Alexander’s face. Whatever they’re speaking about is bothering his husband.

“Lady Rogers, you have to admit that there are some people whose minds and bodies just don’t… _fit in_ with proper Society,” Judge Stern is saying, “These places you’re so quick to condemn are meant to fix those people. Surely you can understand that.” 

Sarah shakes her head with a sigh and a half hearted attempt at holding back a roll of her eyes.

“I seem to recall a time only a decade or so ago, when many Houses simply sent members to your favored institutes just to get rid of them. To make them disappear for not fitting in to how they so desired.” 

Oh. The institutes. That’s what they’re talking about. Not quite proper dinner conversation. Mother never let such a subject come up. Bucky’s never really given much thought about Society’s institutes before. Places people are sent to for help when their brains or bodies don’t work right. Minds that are easily distracted or frazzled. Bodies that just don’t function properly. Even those in Society who find themselves or House members too artistic can go to receive proper care. 

“Well now, yes, that did happen on occasion,” Alexander admits. Something Bucky didn’t know. People sending others there just to get rid of them? “But ever since your House’s _investigation_ , that problem’s been all but taken care of.”

Judge Stern goes on to say, “He’s right. Thanks to you,” It doesn’t sound like he’s very happy about that, “anyone admitted to the institutes now go through a thorough exam to warrant such an admission.”

“Regardless,” Joseph speaks up with a quick wave of his hand, “The practices that go on there are barbaric. Patients being strapped down to a bed, injected with Lord knows what, electricity pumped through their bodies, surgeries done on their brains…”

“All those procedures are done with great care,” Dr. Faustus says. Defensive. Bucky wonders if maybe he works there. 

“Those are not procedures,” Dr. Odinson replies. 

The table is beginning to hush in light of the darker conversation. A brooding debating underway.

Next to him, Dr. Banner nods in agreement. He says, “They’re experiments.”

Dr. Faustus waves this accusation away with his hand. As though he can simply shoo the words away with a swipe of his fingers and an arrogant laugh. 

“Every procedure started as an experiment.” Is his answer to that. “We’re trying to help people.”

“Trying to _help_ people?”

Steve’s angry voice startles Bucky. Enough so that he even jumps a little in his seat. Silence descends upon the table. Eyes fall on Steve. Bucky’s never heard him snap like that before.

“Yes, Lord Rogers,” Dr. Faustus gives one curt nod. “Help people. You _are_ familiar with the concept?”

“I am, Doctor, and that is _not_ what you’re doing there. I’ve _seen_ what goes on there. _Seen_ the results. Mr. Wilson, for instance, is unwilling to even leave his own home during the day because of all the scars left on him, and I’m sure not just the ones on his body from your so-called _procedures_.”

Alexander scoffs. There’s an amused pursed pulled up on his mouth when he shakes his head. 

“Wade Wilson was a common criminal.” He remarks. “Even pled guilty.”

“For petty theft.” Steve retorts. Unlike Sarah, he hardly holds back the roll of his eyes. “He was _trying_ to make a living. Earning what he could here and there working odd jobs while _trying_ to support his daughter.”

“And now that little girl is being raised by Lady Preston, is she not?” Judge Stern asks. “She’ll have a better life with her than she ever had with that man.”

“No that… that’s not…” Steve’s face is turning red. Beneath the table, not proper House Rogers’ etiquette, his hands are shaking. “That’s not the point! The institute _ruined_ Wade Wilson’s life! Took away _any_ chance he _ever_ had at giving his daughter a decent life! He barely gets to _see_ Ellie now! 

He’s livid. Jaw crushed and eyes blazing. Bucky’s never seen him in such a state. 

“You would send _anyone_ there if they don’t fit your mold. If not for my parents interference that would still be going on. You… you’d send sick children there. Children born into Society whose parents aren’t willing to dump them in an orphanage. Children who are too small or can’t breathe right or see right or hear right or…”

Steve names a few more ailments and Bucky realizes he’s talking about himself. That somewhere along the line, someone suggested to his parents that they leave him in one of those places. And now Bucky feels sick. His stomach not so pleased with him when just minutes ago he still believed that institutes were meant to help people. 

As Dr. Faustus continues, so does Steve. No matter how calm the doctor remains, Steve’s normal cool and resolve is losing to his temper. No one else is saying a word. 

Bucky wants to do something. Cool things down. He doesn’t like seeing his husband like his. Body trembling with anger, words falling from his mouth in bursts of furious haste. He can’t say anything. It’s not his place. Not even to suggest a change of topic. 

The world seems to have clapped over in just a blanket of words being fired between his husband and the doctor. Over in his chair, Alexander observes with something of a pleased grin on his face. Watching. Sadistic. And Bucky _needs_ to do something.

He starts by placing his hand over Steve’s. It’s still trembling, and the touch makes him trip over a couple of words, but he’s still tense. The words go on, however, Steve’s demeanor shifts. The anger cools. His breathing settles. He turns his hand so that he can holds Bucky’s. 

It’s when Steve brings up the food in the institutes, the daily menu that apparently consists of nothing more than that fed to those locked in prisons, that Bucky finds an opening. 

“If I may, husband…” He says, waits for the permission to go on before continuing. Steve looks at him. Startled as the rest of the table that anyone else’s voice has been heard. He gets a nod. “I haven’t studied any types of medicines, but it’s been my experience that cooking helps. When I first came here, was first married to my husband, I was very… sad,” Simply put. The most basic terms. “Steve wanted me to learn how to cook. I did. I didn’t like it at first because it was a lot more work than I ever imagined,” He forces a lighthearted laugh. “Really, for everyone here who’s never done it, you should thank your cooks. But, as I was saying, Steve had me learn to cook and after some time I found it to be somewhat therapeutic. Calming.”

Everyone is staring at him. They all seem confused by his little anecdote. All except for Steve. And Talia. Steve’s eyes are wide and shining. Bucky can’t be sure what’s going on in his head. Talia’s lips are pulled up. Just enough for Bucky to know that she’s smiling in that knowing way. She understands. 

“What is your point, Lord Barnes?” Alexander asks.

“Oh.” Bucky pretends to be surprised that they know why he shared this little bit with them. “I only mean that perhaps if you really wanted to help in these institutes, you could try things like that. Cooking. Or maybe…”

“Dancing,” Talia suggests. “My mother taught me how to dance when my House first adopted me. Helped soothe my fears of starting a new life.”

“Languages.” Tony offers. “I’ve learned several. Helped me with anxiety.” He raises his glass to his lips and when he notices people watching him he says, “Yes, I’ve dealt with anxiety. Deal with it.” 

“Affection.” Steve whispers. And gives Bucky’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Consented of course, but human contact can go a long way in keeping someone calm.”

“What I think they’re trying to say, Dr. Faustus,” Sarah announces, “Is that, perhaps, there are _other_ methods you could go about in trying to help people rather than those _you’ve_ chosen to try. Ones a bit more _humane_.”

Dr. Faustus opens his mouth to respond to that, but before he can get a word in, Steve rises from his seat. 

“I hope you all enjoyed your dinner,” He states. A proud, little smirk twitching on his lips. “As my husband has pointed out, cooking is not the simplest of tasks, so if we could all just take a moment to thank our cooks,” Steve trails off with a little clap of his hands. The rest of the table claps in suit. “I’d like to now invite you all into the drawing room for some music and dancing.”

He doesn’t bother letting anyone respond to that. Doesn’t need to. This is his evening to host. They’ll do as instructed by him. Considering it’s customary to gather in the drawing room after supper anyway, Steve’s request makes sense. Staff is already waiting to clear the table as their guests begin to make their way through the morning room. Steve still has Bucky’s hand. He doesn’t look at him as they follow behind, but he does give him another squeeze. Two of them, and Bucky understands. Feels the words. _Thank you_. And Bucky smiles.

“Lord Rogers,” Truvie whispers when they’re right outside the doors to the drawing room. “I’m afraid that Miss Watson hasn’t arrived yet.”

Steve stops dead in his tracks to look at her. Expression horrified. Face pale and eyes wide.

“She’s not here? Stiles hasn’t returned yet?”

“No, sir, I’m afraid not.” She said, though, for the life of him, Bucky’s not sure who they’re talking about. “Would you like me to serve the coffee now?”

“No, no,” He shakes his head quickly. Takes in a deep breath. Or tries to. It’s too shallow. “It’s too… soon for that. I can… we can use the phonograph?” Sounds as though Steve is asking for Truvie’s permission. “It’s not traditional. But… it’ll just be until our pianist arrives. That’ll have to do.”

Now Bucky understands. Whoever Steve hired to play piano for the night hasn’t arrived yet. There’s only so much tradition he can stray from and his husband has been skirting a very fine line. Steve is in something of a silent panic and Bucky knows he can calm him. Also knows that Steve hasn’t even thought of how. Wouldn’t even consider asking and will probably say no if Bucky suggests. So Bucky doesn’t. 

Instead, he steps away from his husband, ignores the quiet and hurried _Wait… what’re you_ … and heads into the drawing room. Fires are lit in both fireplaces at either end of the room. The chandelier has been polished for the occasion. Drops of glass that rain down off of black iron tiers, throwing reflective rainbows all across the floor hardwood floors. No one is touching the buffet of treats yet. Warm cookies and moist cakes. Puddings and chocolate. Food rich with taste and no value to the body other than to feed the soul with childhood life. 

Nerves dance along Bucky’s bones as he makes his way to the piano. His shoes talk soothing words to him as he crosses the floor. He’s dabbled at the piano here and there since playing that first time for Steve. Steve likes to watch him play. Sometimes, when his husband is shut up in his downstairs office, lost in whatever case has grabbed hold of his mind, Bucky will play, only to find the music has brought him back upstairs. He never says a word. Just stands in the door and watches. Smiling. 

_We can do this_. His fingers assure him. _Don’t listen to your brain._

Bucky sighs. His brain _does_ seem to be split in two. One side insisting he can do this. The other trying to talk him out of it.

 _Just don’t mess up, okay?_ Bucky requests just as he gets to the instruments and lets his metal fingertips run along the ivory keys.

They should be cool and soft under the touch, but they can’t tell him so. He looks up at the crowd. None of them paying any attention to him. Lies. There are three pairs of eyes watching. Concerned. He smiles at them. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen?” Bucky calls out and immediately the hushed conversations die down. He smiles at the sudden attention. A wave of confidence washing over him. This feels… right. “It would seem our pianist is running a bit late.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You know musicians.” There’s a soft round of laughter at that. “In lieu of having you all stand around in silence or have me bore you with more invigorating tales of my cooking adventures,” Another pause for chuckles, “my husband has asked that I play for you this evening until a professional arrives.”

There’s a collective glance among their guests. People who had no idea that he was capable of playing anything let alone entertaining. Admittedly, it’s been a long time since Bucky’s done something like this. Playing soft tunes for one’s husband is a little different than playing for a crowd. To get them to dance, too. It might be a bit different than the dinner parties he played for for his parents as well. A ten year old with a big smile and laughter, small fingers--ten made out of flesh--is probably more charming than what they’re about to get.

Still, Bucky receives a polite round of applause when he sits down at the bench. He nods graciously and cracks his knuckles. The fives crackable ones.

“What should we start with?” He asks. “A waltz perhaps?” His fingers dance across the keys. Teasing them with the start of a waltz. “Or maybe a polka?” Nearly effortless. The start of one song shifts to that of another. Fingers passing over ivory like water over rocks. “Maybe something slower?” Bucky does it again. Slows the tempo to the start of a slow dance. “Lord Pierce, how about this,” without thinking, he begins a much more modern, upbeat and quick song. One that requires the dancing of fast bodies and twists and turns. Alexander’s face pinches and Bucky crinkles his. “No? We’ll save that for later then.” The room laughs. So do the people in it. “Okay, Mozart then. Everyone loves Mozart.”

That’s where he settles. Traditional yes, but something a little fun. A happy tune. One that has people pairing off already and twirling around. Those that don’t wish to dance--Alexander being one of them, though Bucky can’t help but notice the way Lady Pierce eyes the dancers with a certain amount of longing--pour drinks and smoke and chat and the room is filled with streams of appropriate noises. 

“You’re brilliant,” Says a voice in his ear. “Have I ever told you that?”

Bucky smiles. He doesn’t quite look up from the keys his fingers move over, but he does pick his head up a bit more so that Steve knows he’s heard him.

“You can _stand_ to say it a bit _more_.” He teases as he comes to the end of his first song and flows straight into another. The first one. That waltz he denied earlier. “Thank you, husband.”

Steve steps around him and suddenly appears in his sights. Glimpsing up at him, Bucky’s surprised by the amazed look on his face.

“What is it?”

“You’re _brilliant_ , Bucky.” He repeats. “I mean it. You’re incredible.”

Blush filling his face, Bucky quickly turns back to the piano and fights to keep a certain amount of dignity. No need to go smiling like a Chesire cat.

“Go.” Bucky tells him. Shooing him away with a jerk of his chin. “Go mingle. That’s what you ought to be doing, is it not, my headship?”

Steve grins. “It is. But I’d much rather stay here and watch you.”

“Oh would you? Must I suffer you hovering over me while I play? Very well then. Stay. Make me suffer till I’m able to give up this torture.”

He scoffs through a laugh and kisses his cheek. 

“Always such a smartass, jerk.”

“It’s true, but I think you like it, punk.” He peeks up from the keys again to make sure, just in case, that Steve’s okay with his teasing. The glitter in his eyes, smile, face, everything, says he is. “Will you dance with me later, husband?”

“If you’d like.” Steve agrees. “Mind you, I’m still no good. And I may very well break a few of your toes again.”

“That’s okay. You can lead if it’s a slow song. I’ll lead if it’s fast. Deal?”

“Deal. I’ll get you when Miss Watson arrives, okay? I really should…”

“Go, go!” Bucky orders again. “Do what you must. Leave me here. To wither away by myself.”

Steve rolls his eyes and kisses him again. This time on the lips. Making him skip over a few keys for the first time. Bucky recovers quickly, but the haze that falls over him seems to lingers for a while.

Turns out the motorcar’s wheel was punctured by a nail. Which is why Stiles was a little over an hour late with bringing Miss Watson. A pretty young woman, clearly dressed in her finest but nothing compared to what’s worn by those in Society. A friend of Peter Parker’s. Recommended her for tonight. Steve’s assured her she’ll still get a full pay. 

She’s very good. Excellent, really. No matter what Steve says, Bucky knows she’s much more skilled at the piano than he is. It’s in the way she seats herself, makes the instrument an extension of body. The music, the notes, they matter to her. Maybe they could have to Bucky, if he wasn’t part of Society. If such things were allowed. Not that it matters. Bucky would rather let the music guide his body like it’s doing now. Dancing with Maria. Make that Talia, since they’ve just twirled and switched partners. Maria’s with Clint now, though she keeps talking with Sam. Has been all night. 

Despite the worries about the evening, it’s proved to be most fun. Bucky’s made several rounds around the dance floor. Partnered with nearly everyone who’s desired his company. He’d been politely turned down by Lady Danvers who instead danced with Judge Walters. Lord Laufeyson agreed to a dance, but then spoke of trying to take over his adoptive father’s company. Bucky isn’t sure if he was joking or not. Brock’s come up to him a few times. None of which Bucky reciprocated. He’s made good on his word to Steve. Hasn’t even said a word other than that once in Steve’s company.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Talia says as he pulls her back in. “Amazing.”

“Did what?”

“Played. I haven’t seen you at the piano since you were a child, Bucky.” She smiles. “That husband sure has done something to you.”

Bucky grins and nods. “Something good?”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

He’s surprised at how fast that comes out. Bucky doesn’t even think about it. Just poof. Happiness there. One day. A soft rainbow after a thunderstorm. Unexpected, warm and always beautiful. 

“Then yes, James. Something good.”

Bucky laughs and as they finish their dance, he happens to spot his husband. No longer mingling but headed their way. Smile on his face as he makes his way onto the floor.

“I owe you a dance,” He reminds him. As if Bucky could forget. “Would you mind, Lady Romanov?”

“For you to steal your husband back, Lord Rogers?” She snickers. “Not at all. I must warn you though, Steve, he _does_ sometimes turn into a pumpkin at midnight. I’d be wary.”

Bucky grunts and rolls his eyes.

“Hm,” Steve shakes his head at Bucky and laughs. “I have had my suspicions all along, Natalia.” The song is changing now, to the one Steve must have asked for. He opens his arms, holding his hands up in the appropriate manner. “May I?”

“Of course, my husband.”

He steps into Steve’s stance and lets his husband guide the way. It’s a bit awkward, albeit, only because Steve keeps pausing to check his feet or readjust his position. Bucky is about to laugh, again, when Miss Watson actually starts singing. The song, Bucky knows it. Modern, yes. Beautiful. Like poetry.

_Strange how you know inside me  
I measure the time and I stand amazed_

Bucky stares up at Steve. His husband doesn’t quite hide his bashful smile though he almost tries. How did all of this happen? So quickly. Night passing into the dawn of a new day. It’s almost baffling. It _is_ baffling. Bucky’s so in love and it was truly as easy as falling. 

_Strange how we know each other_

“It feels as though you are courting me, husband.” Bucky whispers.

Steve flicks his eyebrows up.

“Is that something you’d like?”

_Strange how I fit into you  
There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease_

“It’s something I always wanted…” He trails off with a blush. “Don’t you believe it’s a bit late for that?” Bucky chuckles. “Doesn’t the courting usually come _before_ the marriage?”

“Oh I don’t know. We’re anything if untraditional, are we not? I did say I might spoil you.”

_Strange how you fit into me  
A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs_

The past few months play quickly within his mind. Bucky recalls every touch asked for, every kiss sought out. All Steve’s kind words, his patience and understanding. His husband sharing himself with him, crying on his shoulder, letting him cry when he needed it as well. Christmastide spent with Mother and Rebecca.

Bucky glances to the side to see Clint and Talia cuddled together in the same dance. Just a bit off to the right of them is Maria, dancing more formally with Sam. Both grinning and talking away. He looks back at Steve and kisses him quickly.

“I believe you already do, husband.”

Bucky leans his head on Steve’s chest and Steve cradles it in his hand. That heart of his, so filled with wonder and love, Bucky can hear it beating softly. Maybe trying to talk with his own. His own, however, is screaming. Beat, beat, beat. I. Love. You. Bucky’s going to tell Steve. Not here. Not with all these people. But tonight. When they’re gone. It matters not if Steve doesn’t feel the same. He deserves to know. Know that he means everything to Bucky. The sun, the moon, the stars--they all make up one thing. Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Ides of March everyone! Hope you all had a fabulous Pi day yesterday as well! My apologies for posting two days later than anticipated. The chapter started running longer than I originally planned so I ended up deciding to expand to two chapters and wanted to post them together, so I spent the past two days working on that. So this small delay does come with a double dose :) That _does_ also mean I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting next week. I'm hoping to, but I'm not sure.
> 
> I'd also like to thank the lovely [viper-seven](http://viper-seven.tumblr.com/) for the [song selection](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rc6maCBAAnU) used in this chapter. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed and I'll leave you with these images:
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> Bucky being presented to Society 
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> About to play the piano for everyone
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> With Steve watching him play
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> Now we have Steve making his presentation 
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> Getting annoyed at the dinner conversation about Society's institutes
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> And watching Bucky play 
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> Then we have some of the guests at the dinner party
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> Also I am sorry if it's taken me a while to reply to any wonderful comments that's been left. I do get to them all things have just been really busy. But thanks for coming by! And the next chapter is just a click away!


	26. I Really Need to Catch Some ZzZz's

Maybe flying would feel something like this. There’s no other way to describe how Bucky feels. Floating. His mind, his heart, his body. None of it feels quite real. Even as he washes his hands in the restroom and takes a quick glance in the mirror. He doesn’t recognize the person in the glass. 

That person is beaming. Rosy cheeks and sparkly eyes. Who is that? It can’t possibly be him. When was the last time that face looked out at him? _Ever_ looked out at him? 

Really, Bucky can’t remember the last time he felt so happy. Just felt nothing other than good. Steve’s done this for him. Cleared this path for him and let Bucky take the steps at his own pace until he found himself here. In this place where he can just be him. He’ll repay him for that tonight. In his own way. Maybe it’ll never be enough, but it’s all Bucky can give. His heart, himself, completely naked and vulnerable. 

Bucky leaves the restroom and heads back to the drawing room. The night is coming to an end. Many of their guests have already taken leave. Dr. Faustus was gone before Bucky even stopped playing the piano. Judge Stern didn’t stay much longer than that. Peggy and Gabe have already gone, but not before Peggy gave Bucky the pleasure of a dance. Tony and Pepper only left right before Bucky excused himself and Sam is still downstairs with Maria. As are Talia and Clint. 

Giddy and even close to giggles, Bucky takes to skipping down the steps. Taking them two at a time. He might even break into a little dance. The stairs make happy noises each time he lands. 

“Ah, Lord Barnes, here you are.”

Until the world crashes to a stop. The silly love that’s been pulsing through him turning dark and black. Bucky halts in the middle of the stairs and slowly comes down the rest of them. He stops on the second to last which keeps him just about the same height as Brock. Who’s blocking the way with Alexander. There’s still space, the staircase wide enough for Bucky to go around them, but he knows it won’t be that easy. He notes the two are wearing their coats. Hats in their hands.

“Are you leaving then?” Bucky keeps his voice light and airy. As best he can anyway. “I trust you had a lovely evening. Good of you to come.”

He goes to keep on moving. To get back to Steve. To his friends. Where it’s safe and he’s happy and in love. 

“Not so fast, Lord Barnes. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Bucky lifts his head up. Stares at the ceiling for a heartbeat of time. Measured. Of course. He looks back at him.

“What can I do for you, Lord Pierce?”

“I trust you remember our last discussion.” Bucky crushes his jaw, but says nothing. “Your new House.” He says. Not missing a single second. “You’ve had much time to get acquainted with them.”

“I have.” Bucky agrees with a quick nod of his head. “I’ve learned quite a lot about them.”

When he doesn’t go any further than that, Brock sighs and crosses his arms. That pleases Bucky to the ends of the earth and back again. 

“And?” Alexander presses. “What have you learned?”

“Well, for one, my House is… kind,” Bucky states, “and they’re loud.” He smirks a bit, not really looking at either of the men in front of him, “They’re accommodating and patient and tolerant,” His eyes lift to meet Alexander’s, “They’re accepting and understanding and everything _you’re_ not.” Bucky crosses his arms and squares his shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell, Lord Pierce. The House of Rogers is a good House. You’ll find nothing there.”

“Oh I find that hard to believe. I think you’re lying to me. I think you know something that you don’t want to say. Something about the House of Banner’s doctors being at their home quite often, for instance?” Bucky can feel the blood draining from his face, though he pleads for it all to remain there. “There’s nothing you can tell me about that?”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Now if you’ll excuse…”

“Think about it, Lord Barnes,” Alexander keeps him there with words. Brock keeps him there with an arm in front of him. The arm is a lot more effective. “Just look at the discussions held tonight.”

“Which discussions?”

“The House of Rogers has tried to get Society’s institutes shut down, and for what? Because of practices they don’t understand?”

There’s not much Bucky has to argue with that. Only because Bucky doesn’t know a lot about the institutes. He can go on the knowledge he thought he had, but sometimes that doesn’t seem the most reliable. 

“If Steve says they’re not good, I trust that they’re not good.” He says. That’s really what matters most. “You’d put Clint in one of those places if you could.”

“Who’s Clint?”

He doesn’t manage to keep in the roll of his eyes. 

“Lord Barton.”

“Ah,” Alexander looks amused now. “Is that the little one who speaks with his hands?” 

The fury that erupts through Bucky takes him hard and fast. Lava spraying through his body in one quick breath. It takes every ounce of willpower not punch the man in front of him. Bucky does, however, clench his fists. 

“He can speak just fine,” He growls. “It’s just easier to sign.”

“But he can’t hear, is that right? Tell me, how is a man who has no use of his ears useful to Society? What can he do that--”

“He can read lips. And he’s a _banker_ ,” Bucky interrupts. “And an expert archer. He volunteers for the Military teaching…”

“Yes, yes,” Alexander waves him off as though what he has to say is meaningless. “We’re off topic, Lord Barnes.”

“There is no topic to stay on.” Bucky grumbles and tucks his arms tighter. Starting to succumb to more childish behavior just to keep from lashing out. “I have nothing to tell you about my House.”

“Which House, doll?”

Bucky’s eyes dart to Brock. It’s the first thing he’s said the whole time. He crushes his jaw and doesn’t answer. Steve said not to talk to him. Said not to be alone with him either, but, well, _technically_ he’s not disobeying that part.

“Yes, Lord Barnes, what House _are_ you talking about?”

“Stop it.” He grunts. “I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work. Not this time. You think I haven’t figured out what you did to me?”

Alexander chuckles lightly as his arms cross. He smirks at Bucky. Waiting for something. Looks like he’s expecting to be amused. A spectator watching a circus act. Fools and bumbling clowns falling over themselves to get a laugh or two. 

“What is it you think I did?”

Everything is screaming at him to be careful. _Don’t let him do it again_. Bucky already knows. Not this time. He won’t do that to Steve. His love. His world.

“You _manipulated_ me,” He states, spitting the word as it curdles on his tongue. “You came to me at what possibly may have been the worse time of my life, and, and, you _weasled_ your way into my head. And I…” Bucky releases one, short laugh. Humorless. Self-deprecating. He’ll hate himself forever for it. “I let you do that to me. You _tricked_ me into trying to tell you things about my husband, things a lot more relevant than a sickly childhood, 

Good. Good, just make it sound as though Steve’s childhood was just a bump in time. A nothing. 

“Even worse, you’re _still_ trying to get me to commit treason against the House of Rogers because that’s what’d it’d be, isn’t it? Because I married up? I’d be committing treason and could go to prison, isn’t that right? You wouldn’t help me. You’d get what you want and then let me rot in a prison cell.” Bucky straightens his back as much as he can. “Well let me tell you something, Lord Pierce, not only is there nothing to speak of against the House of Rogers, even if there was, you’d get nothing from me.”

Just as expected, Alexander’s smirk simply purses as though he refuses to let it get any wider. Bucky’s show very much worth the cover charge. 

“You looked very cozy with your headship,” He remarks. “How adorable.” Alexander glances at Brock, though Brock is still staring at Bucky. Something of a disgusted look on his face. “I believe he’s fallen in love with Steve Rogers.”

Bucky’s stomach clenches. Trembles rock through his body. Singing along the edges of his skin. How can this man make his love for Steve sound so _wrong_? A plight. Something he should rid himself of as soon as possible. A frozen arm better cut off than left on lest it poison the rest of his body. 

Alexander says, “It’s very cute. The young Lord Rogers has always been an idealist. Rooted in some fantasy that he can make the world a better place with his naive ideas. Perhaps with the power of _love_ he’ll feel unstoppable. Tell me, Lord Barnes, have you shared your feelings with your headship? Told him of your undying love?” Before Bucky gets the chance to reply, not that he really has anything to say, Alexander continues, “What will you do if he does not feel the same?” Not something Bucky wants to think about. “When you find yourself left alone? Just like your father did.”

Bucky springs to life again. Thanks to Judge Rhodes. To Rhodey. A friend who _didn’t_ share anything with him.

“My father was _not_ left alone. People _did_ stand by him.”

“Quite possible.” Alexander shrugs as though he doesn’t know whether that’s true or not. Bucky’s sure he knows. “But not even Lord Hammer--”

“So Justin Hammer is a coward.” He interjects. Quick and, actually, quite painless. “That doesn’t mean Steve’ll ever do that to me. Justin Hammer does not equate to the rest of the world.”

For the first time, Bucky seems to have pulled some sort of reaction from Alexander. His face gets hard. Bucky’s unwillingness to be swayed by his tactics, his ploy to touch upon any insecurities Bucky might have had--still does, in fact.

“You really think your headship is so flawless? So…”

“I never said he was flawless, Lord Pierce,” Bucky shakes his head. No. He never said that. “Steve has a bit of a temper. I’ve seen him get mad before and not know what to do with that anger. He’s very stubborn. Doesn’t matter what the situation is, he won’t back down, especially if his morals come into play. He tries to carry the weight of the world without any help. My husband gets very single minded sometimes. When he’s focused on something, that seems to be all he can think about.” All of that just makes Bucky love him even more. None of it takes away even a smidge of it. “Thing is, he’s perfect _for_ me. Perfect.”

Whatever irritation Bucky’s resolve managed to trickle into Alexander seems to have faded at that. It all clears and he once again looks amused. Like he might burst out laughing. 

“Perfect? Steve Rogers and perfect do not belong in the same sentence.” He puts his hat on and shakes his head with a sigh. “This is a shame, Lord Barnes, I really thought we could be friends.”

“Well,” Bucky flashes him a cocky little grin. Son-of-a-bitch like. “You thought wrong. I trust you can find your way out. I _really_ should get back to my husband.”

Bucky passes between the two of them. Pleased with himself, that smirk still on his face.

“You do play your part well, Lord Barnes,” Alexander comments as Bucky walks away.

“I do what I can.” He flicks his fingers over his shoulder and doesn’t look back.

He’s about to cross into the dining room. Just another room away from Steve and his friends and love and happiness. The hand on his shoulder slows him. The tight grip stops him.

“Hold on a moment, doll.”

“No.” Bucky hisses without turning. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Brock chuckles. “Is that what this has come to? Has Steve Rogers started telling you who you can and cannot interact with? He’s a real son of a bitch, that husband of yours. Complete podsnappery.”

Bucky swirls around this time. It’s not just the insult, the completely unjust and outrageous insult towards his husband. It’s the indirect insult towards Sarah. Bucky’s not going to stand for it.

“You shut your filthy trap, Brock,” Bucky growls. “ _Never_ talk about my husband that way. _Or_ his mother.” It looks as though Brock might chuckle and pat him on the head. Only Bucky pulls himself together before that can happen. He releases a soft exhale. Another one of those cool grins pulling up the corners of his mouth. “You know, I _know_ why you hate him so much.”

His words seem to strike Brock. He rattles his head as though completely thrown by Bucky’s sudden confidence and attitude.

“What?” He questions. “What’re you talking about?”

“I know you answered my mother’s proposal. Personally. I know you wanted to buy me.” Bucky steps up closer to Brock. Puts his hands under his still open coat and runs them up his chest. “But _Steve_ got me instead. And you hate that I like him. That you don’t get to use me anymore. That Steve’s helped me wake up and get better when I didn’t even realize that I _needed_ to get better. You’d have kept me _right_ where I was,” He presses his body up against Brock’s now. “And you’ll _never_ have me again. You _lost_ to Steve Rogers. And you _hate_ that. But let me let you in on a little secret.” Reaching up, Bucky taps his fingers along Brock’s jaw line, “You’ll _always_ lose to Steve Rogers. Steve is _ten times_ the man you’ll _ever_ be.”

Bucky’s feeling incredibly good about himself. By the way his comments have made Brock’s jaw tight and nostrils flare. The fury that pulses around them is hot and humid. All Brock’s. Bucky’s putting this man behind him. Folding him up and locking him away in some part of his mind that doesn’t even matter. Because that’s where he belongs. 

“...Bucky?”

The only voice in the whole world that matters. It shatters through any good feeling Bucky’s having in the moment. Sends something horrible and cold slithering through him and he yanks away from Brock to spin around. 

“S-Steve…”

Steve looks from him to Brock and back to Bucky again. Eyes baffled, brow crinkled. Hurt in the frown pulling his mouth down. 

Bucky says, “Husband, I…”

“I take it you were seeing Lord Rumlow out.” Steve offers. Not sweetly. No sunshine in those eyes. It’s gone. Eclipsed by something else. “Lord Rumlow, thank you for coming. You can find the exit yourself, I’m sure.”

He’s not giving Brock a choice. Leave or be forced to leave. Bucky can see it, can hear it, even if Brock can’t. This is Steve’s house after all. He has the right to tell people to leave whenever he so wishes. There’s no objections from Brock. Though Bucky can’t see his face, he’s sure the man appears quite put-off when he thanks them for a _lovely_ evening and leaves. 

Then it’s just Bucky with Steve. The husband he’s completely head-over-heels in love with and he can barely hold his eyes. Steve’s gaze is unrelenting. Hard. Jaw just as hard. Bucky wants to explain. To tell him that wasn’t what it looked like. Nothing he says will negate he was just with Brock Rumlow. Doing the exact opposite of what he was told to do. Not that it matters. Any word that does happen to form in his brain just fizzles out again. Flakes of snow that fall upon the earth still too warm to welcome them. 

Without a word, Steve turns to head back to the drawing room. Where there’s warm light and happy people. Buzzing energy and life lines. Leaving Bucky in the barely lit dining room. Cold and lonely. A blizzard of words then happens.

“No wait! Steve, please!” Bucky chases after him. “I’m sorry! It’s not…. that wasn’t what it looked like!” Steve’s not stopping though. He just keeps moving away from him. “I swear! It… I… Oh, husband, _please_ listen to me. I can explain!”

The short and sudden stop causes Bucky to almost crash into his husband. Steve whirls back around.

“One thing, Bucky,” He mutters. “I asked _one_ thing from you.”

“I know, I do. Yes, I know,” Bucky agrees. Readily. Nodding his head and feeling his breaths attacking each other. “I can explain. I…”

“I was worried about you,” Steve hits him with. His voice so soft and caring. Makes Bucky shrink down to half his size. Guilt layered upon more guilt. “I came looking for you because I was worried that you’d taken ill or maybe… maybe playing the piano _had_ been too much. I was worried about you.” Gradually, his voice turns hard, but still holds the start of tears. “And then I find you, not just _with_ Brock Rumlow but… but…” 

“No! Please, that’s not what was happening, husband,” Bucky wants so badly to throw himself in Steve’s arms. To wrap him up and promise that he’ll never disobey him again. If only to avoid that look on his face. So heartbroken and confused. Grey clouds blocking that blue sky. “I’ll tell you what happened, it’s just…”

“I didn’t want you with him at all, Bucky. Not at all. And this whole time…”

“I wasn’t! I wasn’t with just Brock this whole time! I swear I wasn’t.”

All the air in Bucky’s lungs won’t stay. It just keeps leaving as fast as he can pull it in. 

Steve exhales sharply. Hands scrub over his face and when he looks back at Bucky he suddenly appears very tired. He sighs. Then gently, with only the slightest bit of hesitation--no matter how slight, it still hurts--puts his hand at the side of Bucky’s neck. That favored spot of his.

“Okay,” He whispers. “Keep yourself together, baby. We still have a bit of the night to get through.” Steve pulls him in. Not quite for a hug, but keeps him close. “You can explain afterward.”

He’s already leading them back to the drawing room. Where Bucky had been desperate to get to just moments ago. Now he wants to just be with Steve. Up in their bedroom. Wrapped in his arms. His lips on his. To hear that sweet, thick honey back in his voice. To feel forgiven. When he’s reprimanded and gets to explain… 

Panic spreads with his next heartbeat. A thick, hot fog that cloaks around him uncomfortably. Something he hadn’t thought of until this very moment. How _does_ he explain? 

What Steve saw, that’s not so bad. Well, the predicament, yes. Bucky shouldn’t have been pressed up against Brock like that. A man who’s not his husband. He did it to taunt him. After letting him get into his own mind so often, Bucky finally overcame it. Didn’t let it happen. 

The problem lies with Alexander. Steve thinks he was with Brock the whole time he was gone. The only way to remedy that is to tell him why exactly why that’s not true. To do that though, he has to… to… tell him _why_ Alexander wanted to speak with him in the first place.

Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist when they enter the drawing room. He presses his lips to his temple. The kiss is quick. Chaste. There’s not that normal warmth to it. The promise of more. Of _wanting_.

“Go be with your friends,” Steve murmurs. “I’ll wind everything down.”

“But… husband… I…”

“Go. Listen to your husband, Bucky.”

The hand at his hip squeezes a bit. The best hug he can probably give at the moment. 

“Yes, Steve.” Bucky whispers before slipping away to join his friends.

Miss Watson is still at the piano. Quiet, soft medleys are coming from it now. Not for dancing. Just to fill the room with hushed music. Should be calming, relaxing. 

Talia, Clint, and Maria are standing around the fireplace. They all have drinks in their hands. Champagne. Sparkling gold liquid swishing around tall glasses. The three of them are a mix of talks and laughs. They smile and raise their glasses when spotting Bucky coming towards him.

Clint is the first to lower his. Smile fading with it. Maria is closest to him, so she’s the one who reaches for his wrist. Holds it tight in her hand. 

Talia’s the one to voice it. Hands and lips. She says, “What is it? What happened, Bucky?”

First, he needs to swallow the rock in his throat. It takes several tries, but he manages. Or, at least, he speaks around it since all he’s capable of doing is making it a little bit smaller. He needs to take his hand back from Maria in order to sign and he has to. Can’t bring himself to look up the way he should in order for Clint to read his lips. 

“Steve is… is mad at me.”

“What?” Maria asks, head turning in the direction of his husband. The others look as well. Bucky doesn’t bother. He knows Steve won’t be looking back this time. “Why?”

“I… didn’t listen to him. I disobeyed him.”

A finger taps his shoulder. Bucky needs to look up now so that Clint can talk to him.

“ _What’d you do? It can’t be that bad, can it? Steve seems like a very good man_.”

Bucky nods. “He is. Very good. I…” He folds his lips in to keep from telling them before Steve knows. “Which is why this is really bad. He’s so mad at me.”

“What happened, James?” Talia asks. “What did you do that he didn’t want you doing?”

So like her to know it was something along those lines. Regretful fingers tug at his ear. It’s Clint that pulls his hand away.

“I was talking to Brock Rumlow.” He whispers. 

They’re expressions are all a pretty good indication that they don’t understand the severity of what’s gone on tonight. Except for Talia’s. Her lips are set in a line.

“Why doesn’t your husband want you talking to Brock Rumlow, Bucky?” She asks. He gazes down at his feet before peering back up at her. Her eyes narrow in at him and she sighs. “ _He_ was the one? The one you tried to keep from me? You were sleeping with _him_?”

Another breath catches in his chest. There’s anger, so much of it, storming in those crystal blue eyes of hers. Not at Bucky. None for him. Well, except maybe for not giving her a culprit. Someone to blame for taking advantage of him when she so clearly knew something was going on. But now she has a face to go with that worry she felt then, the anger she feels now.

“Natalia,” He whimpers, “please.”

She holds her palm up. A surrender for now. She’ll deal with this matter another time. Bucky’ll pay for keeping it from her. He knows it. Just not right now.

“ _I take it your husband knows that_?” Clint wonders. “ _Right_?”

Bucky only nods in answer.

“But there’s more,” Maria guesses. “Isn’t there? More you aren’t…” She pauses and must reasses that. Starts again. “More you _can’t_ tell us. More you haven’t told him.”

Tears fill Bucky’s eyes. This isn’t fair. Just when the world finally spared him a little something, gave Bucky Steve, it’s just going to snatch him up again. Take him away. 

“James, whatever it is, you need to tell him. You can’t fix whatever’s broken without honesty.”

“ _She’s right_.” Clint agrees. “ _You have to tell him_.”

“But… but…” Bucky’s voice barely makes it from his throat. “He’s going to hate me.”

“No he won’t.” Maria assures him. 

“That man adores you.” Talia adds and finally moves into hug him. Bucky didn’t realize how much he needed it until she’s there. “You’ll be okay. It just starts with telling him.”

Bucky feels sick. Stomach not strong enough, and most definitely not currently on his side, to keep the night’s contents inside. Nothing will come up though. It’s not friendly enough to do Bucky such a favor and relieve the sudden illness.

There are so many things he wanted to tell Steve tonight. He’d even run over a small speech in his head. Words and sentiments he’d probably abandon in the face of actually trying to say those three words to Steve. 

Now he’s not even sure if those three words will even matter. 

***

The door closes behind the last of the guests. Talia and Clint. Maria had accepted Sam’s offer to take a taxi back to the Isle with her just a little while ago. Bucky wonders if perhaps they’ll begin a courtship. Maybe they’ll marry. It’d be even. A nice match. Maria likes him. Enough that she let him escort her home. While he doesn’t know Sam all _that_ well, he knows he’s a good man. Loyal, sweet. And earned Steve’s love. 

This sickness still hasn’t left. Bucky had hoped that Talia and Clint would stay longer. Then again, he’s worried enough that he’d never let them leave again. Keep them here as his permanent buffer. His throat feels dry. No moisture to coat it at all.

Steve comes out of the entryway, closing the doors behind him. Bucky’s seated on the stairs. Legs too wobbly to hold him up while he was waiting. His husband says nothing. Just gestures to the second floor.

“You don’t want to… straighten up a bit first?” Bucky wonders.

He hadn’t thought of that. Not really. He’s just delaying the inevitable. Hard work and all. 

Unsurprisingly, Steve shakes his head. 

“No. Staff will be here in the morning to clean up.” He tells him. “Upstairs. Now.”

Stomach flipping, Bucky nods and rises to his feet with a quiet _yes, husband_. He takes the long walk to their bedroom quietly. Each step gruelling and taunting. The walls seem to close in on him.

When reaching the bedroom, Bucky glances over his shoulder to find Steve’s already undone his bowtie and shrugged out of his suit jacket. The jacket he tosses over the top of the partition screen and starts with the cufflinks at his sleeves. Getting comfortable. Bucky’s not sure if he should do the same. All he does is slip out of his shoes and sit at the edge of the bed. 

Steve unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt and then stands with his hands on his hips before directing his glance over at Bucky. He sighs. The anger, well, it’s still there, but it’s calmed now. Made room to give Bucky the benefit of the doubt. 

“Okay,” Steve whispers. “Go on. Why were you with Brock Rumlow instead of listening to me?”

Fingers twitch. Both metal and flesh. Bucky rings his hands out and tries to figure out how to start. Where to begin. 

“I tried not to.” He breathes. “I did. I walked away, but he followed. He called you a son of a bitch and I got mad that he said that about you and your mother.”

There’s a visible reaction from Steve then. His shoulders lose a bit of tension. Softness fixes his face.

“Alright,” He nods his head once. “Thank you. Go on.”

“He… I told him that I knew… oh…” Oh, he’s not told Steve this. Not on purpose. It just hasn’t come up. “Steve, when my mother was visiting? I had asked her why she picked you for me. She told me that you answered personally.” The right side of Steve’s mouth quirks up a bit. Something of a smile. “But so did Brock. So I told him that. Told him I knew that’s why he was so mad and why he hated you so much. Because he didn’t get to have me and that I’d never let him have me again.” Bucky sighs and runs his hands over his thighs. “I know, I shouldn’t have been up to him like that, but I just… I wanted to… to taunt him really. Not my most mature decision, but it really felt good. That did anyway. Getting rid of him. Permanently.”

Steve’s arms drop. He says nothing for a moment before slowly coming to the bed and sitting down next to Bucky. Close. Just a breath away.

“I ruined it for you.” He says softly. “You were having a moment of greatness and then I went and ruined for you. Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

“What? But, Steve, I… you told me not to do something and I did it anyway.”

“Sure, but it was to do the right thing. Something that mattered a hell of a lot more than listening to me. I’d hoped you’d know me well enough to know I’d care more about you ridding yourself of such a toxin as Brock Rumlow than obeying me as your headship.” Steve wraps his around around his shoulders and rests his forehead by his neck. “Baby, I’m so sorry I ruined this all for you. This should have been something so wonderful for you and I took that away. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Steve, please, don’t apologize. You don’t…” He cups the back of his husband’s head. “Please don’t.”

“I must though, my Sweetheart.” He insists. His warm breath tickling the soft skin at his neck. “I should have let you explain right then and I didn’t. For that I’ll always be sorry. I would have reveled in your triumph with you. Instead I made you feel like you needed to apologize for something.” Steve kisses the spot his breath’s been touching. Very light. Almost as though he might need permission again and isn’t sure. “I’m so proud of you, baby. And I’m so, so sorry.”

Now, Bucky doesn’t know what to do. So many emotions rush through him at once. His heart swells several sizes. But it only deflates when he realizes he still needs to tell Steve more. Things that will shatter the pride he has for him.

“Steve, I… there’s more.” He whispers. In fact, he’s not even quite sure he’s gotten the words out. Even more certain of that when Steve lifts his head and asks, “What was that?” Bucky cringes. The light in Steve’s eyes sparkle. Yet he’s still seeking that forgiveness from him. “Husband, I have something that I need to tell you.”

“Okay.” Steve says. 

Bucky feels his insides tremble. He needs to do this. As Talia said, he can’t fix what’s been done without honesty. Still, it makes it no easier and Bucky feels a cold sweat break across his brow.

“Bucky?” Steve moves impossibly closer. Places his hand in that sweet, tender spot. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, my Sweetheart.”

If only that were true. If only he knew for sure that Steve will just shrug and say everything is okay and they’ll ready for bed and share kisses and get under the covers together. 

“I told you I wasn’t alone with Brock the whole time.” Steve nods. Because Bucky pauses. “Well, that’s technically true. I wasn’t alone with him. I was, I was also with Lord Pierce.”

Steve moves his head back a bit. Confused, but nothing more than that. Not yet.

“Lord Pierce? Why?”

“Because he… wanted to speak with me.” Bucky’s throat is so tight it hurts. He’s not sure how he’s even breathing. “Again.”

“A-again? What does that mean, Bucky? I didn’t even know you ever met him.”

“I… did. Once before tonight.” The last time Bucky felt his body shaking like this was when he tried to recite his vows to Steve. Vows that should have been so much simpler to say. “Right after we… married. That day, the first time you, you rode to the Isle with me?”

“Yes, I remember.” Steve smiles fondly. The day only good memories to him. “What happened?”

“Alexander Pierce came to see me that day. He… Steve, he wanted to know things about the House. The House Rogers.”

For a moment, his statement is followed only by another few breaths of baffled silence.

“But… you didn’t… tell him anything.” Steve assumes. Because Bucky wouldn’t do something like that. Of course not. Steve trusts Bucky. Trusts him that much. “You didn’t say anything.”

Bucky closes his eyes. He wishes to badly he could be the man Steve thinks he is. His voice somehow gets even weaker.

“I… told him you… were sick.” Bucky doesn’t have the courage to open his eyes and look upon his husband’s face. “When you were little.”

The silence is so loud it hurts Bucky’s ears. Steve hasn’t responded. Not at all. Not with words, not with moving, nothing. Bucky still has his eyes closed. He’d take anything over this quiet. Steve yelling or reprimanding him or questioning him. Anything. Except his hand slipping away and falling from that treasured spot by his neck. Which is exactly what happens. 

Bucky’s so startled by the loss of that contact that his eyes pop open without the commands of his brain. His heart twists. Painfully so as it beats violently against his ribcage. Trying to burst out of his chest. Steve is just staring at him. There’s no emotion on his face. None that Bucky can see. And he’s still not saying anything. He’s just taken that hand away and now it sits in his lap.

“Steve?” Bucky whispers when he can no longer bare it. “Husband? Please, please say something.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit. Almost as though he’s confused by Bucky’s presence. There’s still nothing there though as he begins to move away. He just lets the maddening quiet go on and on. 

“You…” Steve’s first word is spoken quietly. Sounds like it’s being forced out of his throat. “You told him that? You told him about the procedure? About…”

“No no!” Bucky clarifies. “No, I didn’t tell him that. Just…”

“But you _told_ him about me being sick, Bucky!” Steve suddenly jumps off the bed. “I told you that, when I didn’t even _know_ you, to try to help you _trust_ me and you told _Alexander Pierce_?” He’s shaking now. Just as much as Bucky. “How… how could you do that to me? How could you not tell me?” Steve smothers his hands over his face. “You… I… _why_? Why would you do that?”

“I…” Bucky’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to tell it was an accident. He… Steve, he was so… I don’t even know how to describe it. He made me feel so empty, so alone. I just wanted it to stop. And it just came out.”

“But you should have _told_ me! If not then, some _other_ time! Don’t you… I can’t…” He’s breathing so hard. It looks like it’s painful. “All this _time_! Who knows what that man has been doing! He could have been _digging_ through my past… through… Bucky, you need to tell me _exactly_ what you said.”

“Just… I…” Bucky can’t take this. He can’t take the way Steve won’t look at him. Just paces back and forth. “I said that you were sick when you were little. And that… the House Banner helped.”

This time, Steve _does_ look over at him. Eyes wide and full of panic. He shakes his head back and forth. Quick, jerky movements like he can’t believe anymore of what Bucky has to say.

“You told him… fuck. _Fuck_.”

The swears pierce Bucky in the stomach. It’s not the very first time he’s heard Steve say such words, but this is the first he’s heard them said in such a voice. Poison. 

“Steve, I… I’m sorry.”

“Yes, yes, Bucky, you’re sorry. I know you’re sorry. But that doesn’t _change_ what you’ve done! Doesn’t make me feel any better! You just _gave_ Alexander Pierce the first bit of me that I ever gave to you! And what’s worse, is _now_ you’re telling me that the House Banner might _also_ being under his radar!” He shakes his head. “If you had told me, I could have told them. We could have taken precautions. _Done_ something!”

Steve is standing just a few feet from the bed. All Bucky wants to do is feel that touch again. He reaches out for him, but Steve moves away. Avoids his touch as though his very life depends on it. Tears fill Bucky’s eyes. He blinks them away.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

Everything hurts. All over. Inside. Outside. Bucky feels like a flower forever cut off from the sun.

Steve shakes his head again and runs his fingers over his mouth. He opens his mouth several times, but says nothing. There are a few time that he seems to try to look at Bucky, but can’t. Like he can no longer stand the sight of him.

“Go to bed, Bucky.” He finally says. Orders. No room for arguments. Steve starts for the door.

“You… you’re leaving?”

“I don’t think I can be around you just right now.”

Right before Steve would walk out the door, Bucky leaps off the bed. On his feet, he holds his arm out towards Steve but takes no steps towards him. 

“You can’t hate me forever!” He shouts. And when Steve pauses he says, “You… you’re my husband.” Bucky feels his voice quivering. “Please, Steve. Please don’t hate me forever.”

Steve turns just enough to reveal his face. Tear streaked. He stretches his lips and shrugs.

“I don’t hate you, baby. I’m hurt. And I’m disappointed.”

He leaves at that and Bucky feels those words rip him apart. Bucky sinks back down on the bed. The world’s faded away. Bled over in panic and he can’t breathe right. He’s ruined this. Ruined everything. And he’s not sure if he can ever get it back.

***

He’s not sure how long Steve is gone for. Time seems to have stopped. For all Bucky knows, he may have slept and woke and not even realized. He’s in pajamas, like his husband wanted. But all he can do is sit on the side of the bed. On the very edge of his side. 

Everything he felt earlier, all the love he wanted to share, it’s all gone out the window. It won’t matter if he tells Steve now. He probably won’t believe him. Just a manipulative attempt to get him to forgive him. 

His stomach hurts. His head aches. His back is in pain. There are no tears, though he can feel them somewhere inside. What right has he to them anyway? After he’s hurt his husband so greatly? Betrayed him.

For a while, Bucky just sits with a blanket wrapped around him. The room feels too cold. Then it’s too hot. 

At some point he must have lied down, since his head is resting on the pillow when he feels the touch on his shoulder. 

It scares him. He’s grown so used to the dripping stillness that the movement makes him leap out of his own skin. Bucky turns to find Steve on the bed with him. He’s not wearing a shirt. Just a pair of dirtied trousers. His eyes are red and swollen, like he’s been crying this whole time.

“Steve…” Bucky breathes. Finding courage. “I’m sorry.”

He nods and takes his hand away. “I know. But… I… I don’t know what to think.”

Bucky sits up. Slowly. As if sitting up too quickly might frighten Steve off again.

“It’s still me, Steve. I swear.”

“Is it?” Steve squeezes his eyes closed and looks as though he regrets saying that. “I just… oh, baby, I feel so horrible right now. I don’t know what to say.”

He slides off the bed again and goes off to stand by the fireplace. There’s no fire in it, but he lays his arms across the mantle. Rests his head within them as though he’s too tired to keep it up.

“Okay, okay, then, is it okay if I talk? Can you just listen?”

Steve shrugs at that. Doesn’t answer any further.

“I… husband, I just…” Bucky breathes out and just says what’s on his mind. “I know you’re angry with me. Disappointed. I understand. But, please know that I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again. Whatever you need me to do to help fix this, I’ll do it. I just… _Steve_ , I can’t lose you. I love you so much, and I just can’t imagine not having you with me. I need you, husband.”

Somewhere during Bucky’s little speech, Steve lifted his head. He turns and is now staring at Bucky like he’s amazed by something. 

“What did you say?”

“I said that I need you, Steve.”

He makes a disgruntled sort of face and shakes his head. “No, not that. Before that.”

Bucky quickly runs over the things he’s just said. _You’re angry. I understand. Earn your trust. Whatever it takes. I love you._

Oh. Oh no. 

Eyes wide, Bucky opens his mouth and tries for words. Can’t find any to take that back.

“Did you say you loved me?” Steve asks.

“I…” He swallows hard. There’s no going back now. He’s not about to lie to this man. No matter how much more pain this might cause. “Yes, Steve.” He whispers. “I love you. I… I can’t even breathe without thinking about how much I love you.” He twists his lips a bit and goes on to say, “I know you probably don’t believe me right now, but I… I’m not just saying that. I love you. I love you, husband. And maybe…” It’s not until he looks up at Steve again that he realizes he’s been staring down at his fingers, “Maybe one day you could love me, too? Love me the way you love Peggy and Sam?”

Steve just stares at him. For a few seconds, Bucky wonders if maybe he’s not said anything at all. Only thought it. Until Steve shakes his head.

“No, Bucky.”

Cold washes over him. Bucky probably should have expected such an answer, especially now. That doesn’t mean the hope wasn’t there.

“Okay,” He whispers. Bucky doesn’t know how he’s talking with a broken heart. How he’s still standing. Maybe his body hasn’t had the chance to respond yet. “I understand.” 

His fingers cover his mouth when his voice cracks to a whimper. Bottom lip quivering, he turns to escape the room. He shouldn’t. This isn’t Steve’s fault, but he just can’t… go anywhere. Not when the arms quickly engulf him and pull him back to Steve.

“No, you don’t.” Steve murmurs into his ear. “You don’t understand, Bucky. I _can’t_ love you like Peggy or Sam. Ever. Because I love you the way I love James Buchanan Barnes. The only way I can ever love someone again. You’re it, Bucky. Forever.”

Those tears finally show up. Spilling over the brim of Bucky’s eyes as his breaths shake and tremble. 

“You… you love me?” He whispers.

“I love you, Bucky.” Steve answers.

“But…” His voice squeaks. Falls to a whimper. “But, Steve, even after what…”

“Yes, Bucky. Even after this.” Steve turns him around. Tells him to look at him. There are just as many tears in his eyes as there are in Bucky’s. “This doesn’t change my love for you. If I had to start all over, even knowing this would happen, I’d still marry you. Every time. I’d marry you every time.”

Those tears come on even stronger. Seems they’ve been biding their time. Stored up for just the right moment and this must be it. They’re for so many things. For regret, for love, for happiness, for guilt. For himself. For Steve. Steve. Who loves him. Somehow, his heart feels so heavy and light at the same time. Bucky tries to smile through those tears. It’s rough and sloppy, but he gets it.

“Steve, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I…”

He can’t go on. Not when Steve slams his lips into his and steals the rest of his apology away. 

“I know. I know you’re sorry. And…” He presses his brow into Bucky’s, “And I’ll forgive you. I will. I just… I need some time. But… I’ll tell my parents and Bruce so they know to be careful…”

Bucky gasps and trembles again. “They’re going to hate me.”

“No. No they won’t. I’d never let them. And they know the kind of man Lord Pierce is. They’ll under…” Steve sighs. His eyes fall closed and he kisses him again. “ _I_ understand. I understand, baby. I just… give me time.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. Hands at Steve’s waist. Holding on. Holding strong. Never wanting to let go. “I’ll give you whatever you need. I just… will you say it again, Steve?”

“I love you.” He says immediately. “And I’ll marry you again and again. No matter what.”

“I love you, Steve.” Bucky whispers. “Husband, will we be okay?”

Arms wrap around him. They hold him tight and Bucky thinks Steve might be crying again.

“We’ll be okay, baby.” He tells him. Bucky doesn’t know if the assurance is meant only for him, but Steve as well. “I have another rule for you.”

Bucky smothers his face in Steve’s shoulder and nods. Makes his arms tighter around his husband’s waist. 

“Okay.”

“From now on, whenever you feel the urge to tell me you love me, you are to say it. Out loud. Always. Understand?”

The hard lump that’s been in his throat causes Bucky to laugh as it dissipates. Steve loves him. Really. They’re in love. The both of them. And they’re going to be okay. 

“I love you.” He answers as his way of confirming his understanding. “I love you. I love you. I love you…” 

He keeps saying it. Bucky can feel his husband’s smile when he presses his lips against his neck. Even when they fall into bed, and Bucky’s still whispering. Following his favorite rule. Quite possibly until Steve’ll get sick of hearing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. Some truths have been told and the _I Love Yous_ have been said! I hope it was worth the wait :) 
> 
> So folks, I really hope you enjoyed these two chapters! As I said, I'm not 100% sure if I'll be able to get one up next week, though I'll sure try! Hope everyone has had a great weekend and that this week is fabulous!
> 
> And we'll leave on these notes:
> 
> Bucky flashing his cocky little smile after telling off Lord Pierce and Brock
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>  
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> Trying to apologize to Steve after admitting what happened with Alexander
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> And after Steve's left the room 
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> Next we have Steve walking in on Bucky with Brock and completely misunderstanding 
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> Steve angry and not knowing just how to deal with it
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> And finally, Steve telling Bucky he loves him
> 
>  


	27. My Cat is Staring Quite Intently At Me As I Update...

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

The sounds of Bucky’s soft voice that Steve fell asleep to brushed along the tip of his broken heart. Broken but mendable. Twisted and hurt, on the verge of shattering. Still beating. 

A different sound wakes him. Not quite loud, but intrusive. Makes its way through his dream and tries to pull Steve out of it. Not something Steve wants. If he wakes up it’ll all be real again. The heartache comes back. But then, so does his husband’s love. The noise happens again. A squeak, squeak, squeak. And whether or not Steve _wants_ to wake no longer matters. 

His eyes open to find that Bucky’s side of the bed is occupied only by friendly sunrays. One nestled comfortably on Steve’s hand. A sweet beam trying to offer affection as he comes to. Suspicion is his first thought and he hates it. Wants to banish it from his heart and never let it creep up on him again. But Bucky is never up before him. At least, he never gets out of bed if he is. Today he is. And today is different. 

Steve blinks and rolls onto his back when he hears the noise again. He sits up a bit, weight back on his elbows, and peers out the open door. Where his husband is pushing a trolley. The wheels of it the source of the squeaking. 

Bucky’s looking down at the floor as he attempts to maneuver the trolley into the room. It catches once on the doorframe and Bucky mutters a curse as he backs up and tries again. Only to have it happen once more. The frustration on his husband’s face would amuse Steve if not for all the other emotions clogging the way. 

“Bucky?”

Even his voice sounds flat. Lacking the normal affection it holds whenever Steve says his husband’s name.

Bucky looks up at him. A quick snap of his head as though Steve being there is the last thing he expected. 

“H-hi… I, um…” Bucky sounds unprepared to hold any sort of conversation. Mind blanking of whatever it was he’d wanted to say in the first place. He looks down at the covered trays on the trolley and then back at Steve. “I love you?”

That gives way to a bubble of elation. Bursting in glimmering starlight that shines bright, even if only briefly, through the dark. Steve grins.

“I love you, too.” 

“Uh,” Bucky glances at the trays again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Steve assures him. Although he might have. It doesn’t matter. “I was up already. What are you doing?”

Bucky takes in a deep breath. Ringing his hands out, he keeps running his eyes over the trays as if he’s unsure about something. Like he’s done something wrong and he’s ready for Steve to reprimand him. 

“I, I, um, made breakfast.” He murmurs. Eyes downcast and voice small. “Not, well I’m sure it’s not as good as yours…” Bucky finally gets the trolley in the room and lifts the cover off one of the trays. Reveals a stack of oblong flapjacks, burned eggs and overcooked bacon. “It’s not… doesn’t look so tasty…” Bucky sighs. A sound of utter failure and disappointment. His lips scrunch up and he says softly, “Breakfast is different than supper. You should just wait for Truvie to make something. I just…”

“Get in bed, Bucky.” Steve interrupts. “And bring all that with you.”

“You… you want…”

“Yes.” He pats the bed. Tense and maybe just as unsure as Bucky, but welcomes him over anyway. “Come on.”

Doing as he’s told, Bucky seems a little muddled at how to go about handling it. He moves in for the trays, to take them both, then just one, then turns to the bed without any before deciding on handing Steve his and then climbing in with his own.

They sit there quietly. An awkward silence that slips between them like an unwanted fog. Dripping and blinding. Steve feels the same tension that filled the room during the first days of their marriage. Only this is worse. Much worse.

This isn’t two strangers finding themselves unceremoniously in a legal union, married quick and not fully by choice, and having to get used to each other. This is Steve and Bucky. Husbands in love. Very much so. And not knowing what to do in the face of a huge wall they’ve struck fast and hard. 

Bucky keeps stealing glances over at Steve. Steve knows it, but can’t bring himself to return the glance. No matter how much he loves Bucky, and he truly does, with all his heart, he just feels… feels… 

Betrayed. It’s how Steve felt when Bucky told him. Empty and hollowed out. Like the man before him had slipped into the shadow of someone else. It felt as though he’d been punched right in the gut. Air coming out of his lungs fast and swift and just not returning. Asthma returning even with the medicines he takes everyday to keep it from happening. All it took was a broken heart. 

He wanted to beg Bucky to take it back. Tell him it was just some sort of joke that Steve just didn’t understand. A punch line Bucky hadn’t told right. That wasn’t it though and it never would be. His husband had told the man who would do anything to destroy his House the first intimate secret Steve had shared. It felt like a piece of his soul had been handed away. Sold off by the one person Steve wanted to trust more than anyone else in the world. 

Everything had been so overwhelming. The unmovable and unstoppable crashing together and waging war inside him. Steve might have actually hated Bucky in that moment. For just one heartbeat. One breath of time where all he could feel was anger and emptiness. Only he couldn’t. Not beyond that beat. That breath. Not with Bucky pleading with him not to. 

“Please, Steve.” Bucky had begged. Voice laced with cracks. Shattering. “Please don’t hate me forever.”

There were already tears in Steve’s eyes. Big and fat. Rolling down his cheeks. Because who he thought Bucky was and the man in the room with him were two different people. He turned to face him.

“I don’t hate you, baby.” He told him. It was true. Steve didn’t hate him. He just couldn’t. “I’m hurt. And I’m disappointed.”

Under normal circumstances, the crushed expression on Bucky’s face would have been enough to send Steve dashing back into the bedroom to wrap his husband in his arms. He couldn’t though. Everything was just too painful. Too _raw_ and Steve just left. 

He wasn’t aware just how long he’d gone for. Steve headed down to his studio though the art there held no comfort for him. Paints and charcoal and canvases that usually greeted him upon entry were silent. Ignoring Steve in his time of need. 

There had been an attempt to create something out of his pain. Steve shed out of his formal suit. Let it pile in a careless ball on the floor and changed into a pair of battered slacks. No matter how hard he tried to focus on something other than the pain, to channel that emotion into _something_ he just couldn’t.

All Steve could do was pace. Back and forth and back and forth. Wearing a path along the floor on achy feet. He tried to figure out what to do with what he knew now. Should he phone his parents? Tell them what Bucky’d done? Take a wait and see approach? 

His stomach had been a cluster of knots. Tight and painful; twisting hard in every direction. After some time, the studio’s shadows circled around him. Whispered horrible things. Lord Pierce would find a way to use what Bucky told him to lock Steve away. An institute. Like one they discussed during supper. 

He’d be locked away. Shut out from the world while doctors tested him. Experiments and drugs. Left to rot while Bucky got what he really wanted. The money he married for. Societal status. 

But that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Why would Bucky have admitted the truth if it was? 

Steve escaped the lies. Escaped the tormenting darkness he’d gone to and ended up wandering about the drawing room. Where he’d last been so happy. Bucky at the piano. His husband playing tunes that brought the room to life. Dancing along the floor with their guests. A smile that had finally found a home. 

Steve sat down at the piano. Skimmed his fingers along the keys he didn’t know how to play. He wanted someone to take the pain away. Wanted someone to hug him. Tell him everything was going to be alright. 

Incidentally, the one person he wanted, _needed_ , more than anyone, happened to be the source of the pain. Steve looked up at the ceiling. Tried to see beyond the sympathetic wooden beams to where his husband would be waiting for him. Too many emotions to think straight. All he knew was that he wanted Bucky. No matter what that meant. So Steve went upstairs. 

Found Bucky in bed. Staring at the wall. Steve wanted to be near him. He wanted to be as far from him as possible. He wanted to talk to him. He didn’t want to hear a word he had to say. 

But he did. Steve listened to what Bucky had to say. And somehow ended up feeling _more_. When those words came out of his husband’s mouth--a slip, really, Bucky hadn’t meant to say them, which somehow made them all the more genuine--Steve almost couldn’t believe his ears. Love him? Bucky loved him? 

“I love you.” Bucky confirmed for him. “I… I can’t even breathe without thinking about how much I love you.”

Stars of heaven and fires of hell. Floating and drowning. Roses and weeds. No one feeling would remain. 

Not until Bucky asked if Steve could ever love him back; love him the way he loved Peggy and Sam. Steve didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. How many emotions could one heart handle at once? Everything just circled around him. The love he felt for his husband hadn’t lessened over the hurt he’d caused now. The hurt he felt hadn’t lessened over the blooming love he renewed. 

Bucky hadn’t understood what Steve had meant when he denied him his request. That the love he felt for him was for Bucky and Bucky alone. Bucky really didn’t know how much Steve loved him. That heartbroken look on his husband’s face, so torn apart and _sad_ , the quiver in his lip and tears in his eyes, Steve felt the world crumble away and then start to rebuild piece by piece the second he pulled him into his arms. 

Steve held him so close to his chest. Wrapped up in a cocoon of arms and his beating heart. He could feel Bucky trembling. Holding in a flood of emotion. Of impending heartache. 

“Because I love you the way I love James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve explained, and could _feel_ the mended pieces of Bucky’s heart. Fitting together one by one. Slow and careful lest Steve offer his declaration only to snatch it away once more. “The only way I can ever love someone again. You’re it, Bucky. Forever.”

Forever. 

Steve means that, too. It’s just… this pain is so real inside. Wrapping around him in horrible ways. He put so much trust and faith in Bucky. Never believed for one second that he had reason to doubt him. There are still things Steve needs to take care of.

He needs to tell his parents, for instance. They need to be made aware of the current situation. That Bucky, Steve’s husband, told Alexander Pierce about his sickly childhood. No doubt Lord Pierce has deduced that’s why Steve’s life was kept so secret while growing up. 

Secrets. It’s what Lord Pierce collects. Small trinkets of other people’s treasures that he keeps in a chest hidden away to be used at his own convenience. He might be looking into it right now. Trying to weasel information on the procedure that helped Steve become healthier. Lord Pierce might make a case that Steve is now and has always been a burden on Society, on the world at large. Someone who can’t live properly without the right medications. Someone who can’t be trusted to make sound decisions. Someone not worth living. 

The person Steve’s always feared he was. Deep down inside. That tiny kid who couldn’t breathe right, see right, hear right. Whose body worked against him in awful ways. Stomach filled with painful ulcers and a heart that beat wrong. A crooked spine and flat feet. A pound a raw liver everyday just to get the proper vitamins to avoid death at the hands of his anemia. So tiring. Everyday was tiring just to _be_ no matter how hard he tried to prove that he wasn’t. 

Who would want to be with someone like that? Who would _trust_ someone whose body was so sick and damaged? And now the world would know that’s the person Steve is inside. Because Bucky told Alexander Pierce. 

Steve doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear lands on the tray across his lap. He might not have noticed, but someone else has.

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. “Steve, please, don’t cry.” Which is ironic given the crack in his own voice. Bucky’s crying as well. “I’m sorry, husband. Please… tell me what to do.”

Therein lies the problem. Steve doesn’t know what to do. What he should do or what Bucky should do or if they can do anything. He knows they’ll get through this. Call him too idealistic, an artist through and through, but Steve loves him far too much not to believe that. He just wants to feel the way he did last night. When they ate. When Bucky played. When they danced. Before all this happened. 

“I don’t know, Bucky.” Steve says. “I just… I don’t know.”

“Do… should I leave?” He suggests. Pain in his voice. “Will that help? I could, um, I could go back to the other room. Until you feel…”

“No.” He shoots that down straight away. Steve doesn’t want to face this alone. “I don’t want you to go anywhere. I want you here. With me.”

“Okay.” Bucky turns to face him. Scoots up enough that he’s not being blocked by the tray. “Steve, can I hug you?”

Still holding his utensils, Steve glances over at him. Bucky looks so unsure of himself. Afraid to ask for such affection now. Steve pushes the tray of food aside and holds his arms out.

“Yes, Bucky.” He answers. 

Bucky doesn’t quite throw his arms around him, but the hug he gives is less than gentle. He wraps around him as though fearful Steve might suddenly change his mind. Steve breathes him in. The familiar, comforting scent of the man he loves. 

His husband holds him tighter when Steve’s tears come on stronger. Steve shakes in Bucky’s embrace. He’s never felt anything like this before. 

“Bucky? Do you… would you hate me if the procedure didn’t work? Do you think I was a burden? Is that why…”

“Stop it.” Bucky presses his lips into the spot between Steve’s neck and shoulder. “No. _No_. I didn’t mean to tell him _anything_ , Steve. I _swear_.” He gasps on a jagged whimper. “It had _nothing_ to do with you. And I could never think that, husband. _Ever_. I told you, when I saw you at the New Year’s Gala that I wanted to be like _you_. You inspired me. Back then. Now. Everyday.” 

“Bucky…” Steve sighs into his husband’s hair. Kisses. Once. Twice. “I love you.” 

Bucky’s hug tightens again. Steve can feel him tremble and try not to cry harder. Not all successful in his attempt. 

“I love you, too.” Bucky pecks up Steve’s neck. “So much, Steve. I love you.”

Right when Bucky would kiss him on the lips, Steve backs away. He just can’t. Not yet. Not now. He still needs some time. Even when Bucky’s face falls as though Steve’s just slapped him. He tries to recover right away. Fixes a patient grin on his face, but it still looks like he wants to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs. 

He goes to say more. Words of apology to explain just why he’s backed away, even if Steve doesn’t quite understand it himself. Steve doesn’t get the chance though, before Bucky’s shaking his head to stop him from doing so. 

“No, please, don’t.” Bucky murmurs. His hand reaches out for Steve, but he changes his mind. Pulls away and drops that hand in his lap. “You’ve been nothing but patient and understanding with me. It…” He needs to clear his voice so it doesn’t crack. “It’s my turn now. You need to be able to trust me again. I can’t expect that to happen during one night’s sleep.”

Lips twitching in a grin, heartfelt and melancholy, Bucky stops there. Bucky runs his fingers along the stitches of the blankets. Possibly searching for the affection usually found within them.

“It’s just…” Maybe a few words will suffice. “When I look at you, I see two people. The Bucky that I _know_ and this other one that…”

“Doesn’t exist,” Bucky insists before Steve has the chance to describe some alternate version of his husband. The false one he sees in his head all too willing to divulge information to anyone who wants it and living a lie with Steve this whole time. “That’s not me, Steve. It never was. _This_ is me. Please believe me. I…”

“I do, Bucky.” Steve takes hold of his hands and kisses his knuckles. All of them. Feels the differences between temperature from hand to hand on his lips. “I believe you. And I _know_ that. I know who my husband is.”

“You do?” He sounds so touched. Honored at such a sentiment. A fallen angel given the chance at redemption though Steve hardly feels he’s fallen that far from the clouds of heaven. “Really, Steve? Cause… you were proud of me last night. And now…”

“Things are different. Yes.” Very different. Still, Steve loves this man. He just does. And that means loving all that comes with him. “I’m proud of what you did for yourself last night, baby. With Brock Rumlow. And I’m also disappointed by what… by…”

Bucky sniffles and leans closer. A daring move since Steve is sitting tense and rigid. But the second Bucky moves forward, Steve is tucking him into his arms. 

“Betraying your, I mean, our House.” He whispers. Says it as though needing to purge himself of the wrongdoing again. “For betraying _you_.”

“Well…” Steve repositions them, but does nothing to make Bucky leave his affectionate place. “And that you didn’t tell me. Never do that again. Do you understand me? If you need a little bit of time to gather yourself, I can understand that, but you’re _never_ to wait so long to tell me something so important again. I want to be able to trust you.”

Bucky’s back is up against Steve’s chest. They’ve got their arms twined. More like Bucky has Steve’s trapped within his own. Unwilling to ever let go. Coiled in his loving grip even if it’s mostly out of fear of Steve disappearing on him. 

“Yes, Steve.” He answers softly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that again. I swear. Never.”

“We’ll see, Bucky.”

More silence stretches between them. It’s not comfortable and it _is_ uneasy. Things are different, and Steve feels his emotions swaying on a pendulum. A buffet of horrid to okay to empty to filled that he doesn’t get to choose from.

When Steve first moves to sit up, Bucky’s grip around him gets tighter. He whimpers and tries not to let him go. 

“I have to phone my House,” Steve tells him. Frees himself from Bucky’s meaningful embrace. “I need to let them know what’s happened.”

“O-okay.” Bucky whispers. “I understand.”

Understand, yes. That he does. Bucky knows this doesn’t die with just the two of them. Too many people are at risk. Still, he looks utterly terrified at the idea of his indiscretion leaving this room. 

“Hey, look at me.” Steve whispers. Only Bucky’s eyes lift. Seems he’s lost the courage to do much else. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You promise?” Bucky asks and then grunts and sighs. “I’ve no rights to such a promise, I know that. I just… you’ll come back to me one day, right?”

Steve’s not entirely sure what he means at first. It’s not as though he intends on leaving for the day. Or, really, leaving at all. 

A cloud passes over the sun. It causes a shadow and chases away the sunbeams that have been scattered across the room. No more rays to dance along the bed for him. And Steve understands. 

He’s left Bucky. Gone somewhere his husband can’t follow. To a place where being near Bucky feels different and talking with him is awkward and kissing him is foreign. Steve is there, and Bucky can tell. 

“Yes.” Steve swears. Touches the side of Bucky’s face gently. Only for a second before taking his hand back. “I’ll… I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

***

The day has turned rainy and as miserable as Steve feels. Long, grey streaks that run down the windows and obscure the outside world. Steve’s very own looking glass. A reflection of self that tears through him. Soggy skies that leave little room for hope. 

Tea and ladyfingers go untouched in the drawing room. An entirely different feel between last night and this afternoon. No longer merry and joyful, but dismal and full of worry. Steve sits with his mother in mutual silence. Her fingers tap over her teacup. Tap, tap, tap. There’s a pinch on her face--pale today, in the face of last night’s merriment. The energy she used for the dinner party spent and leaving her careworn and rundown. 

Every now and then her eyes close, dark circles under them. Maybe to just to blink at first, but she’s unable to reopen them right away. Her illness come to the surface to makes itself known. 

Steve told her she needn’t come, but after thirty minutes on the telephone she insisted. Sarah wouldn’t be swayed. Within two hours Sarah was over and Bucky has hidden himself in their bedroom. Despite several assurances that she would not yell at him--though, to be honest, Steve’s not a hundred percent sure _how_ she’s going to react to him--his husband locked himself up the second she was announced as arriving. 

When Sarah puts her cup and saucer down on marble coffee table, Steve thinks she going to say something. Her mouth even opens, but no words are said. The tea in her cup looks bemused as she reaches for it and still does not drink. 

“Mom?” Steve finally says. Sarah Rogers is always full of words. To find her without any is too much. “Please say something.”

She nods and does take a sip of her drink. Her lips crinkle a bit. It’s not the tea’s fault it’s gotten cold.

“If I could a kill a man and get away with it,” She speaks calmly despite what she’s saying, “It would be him.”

Steve’s first thoughts are Bucky and he couldn’t be more horrified. His husband is upstairs, hiding because of that very fear. Steve is hurt, yes, and maybe a part of him is still angry, but not once did he think such things.

“M-Mom?” His voice is just a whisper. It’s not often that she speaks so darkly. When bright sunlight eyes cloud over in storms and hurricanes. This is one of times. “He didn’t… Bucky…”

“What did he do to him?” She asks. “Did he tell you?”

Eyebrows pulled in, Steve tilts his head to the side. The anger rising around her is so thick it almost knocks Steve over. Only it’s not directed at Bucky. Not at all.

“You’re talking about Lord Pierce? You mean what he did to Bucky?”

“Yes. Did your husband tell you?”

“Um, just that…” What did Bucky say? There’s so much running through Steve’s mind it’s hard to remember exactly. “Just that, Bucky said it was hard to describe. And that he made him, Lord Pierce, I mean, made him feel empty and alone.” Steve’s voice drops, “And that Bucky just wanted him to stop.”

Sarah’s hands clench to fists. Tight. Whiteknuckled. They quiver a bit under the weight she puts on them. Which isn’t much. They’ve thinned recently. Even in such little time between his wedding and now. No longer are those the warm, strong hands that helped mend him through illness and fatigue. Coughs and asthma attacks. Late night fevers and early morning chills. Death holds them tenderly. 

“Of course he did. That son of a…” She’s taken by a sudden fit of coughs. Hard and violent enough that Steve moves in to help her. Grabs a cloth napkin to hold in front of her mouth since the coughs are not dry. Sarah moves his hand away. Insists she’s fine. “Isn’t any wonder. That poor boy,” She’s speaking of Bucky now. “He was probably so scared. You’ve seen what that man can do to people in Court.”

Indeed Steve has. He’s seen how Lord Pierce can make a victim second guess themselves. Twist their words into some wild fabrication of what they really are. Rip them to shreds and stitch them back together in some unrecognizable quilt mixed of half truths and lies. 

And he did something like that to Bucky. When he was so vulnerable. In a new marriage he didn’t want, one he feared and dreaded. Father dead. Unsure how to move, how to _breathe_ even. An open wound prone to infection that Lord Pierce was happy to provide. 

“I know,” Steve breathes. “Mom, what do we do?”

“What _can_ we do, baby?” She says. Might sense worry and tension surrounding him. Salty sea air he can feel and taste. “Confronting Lord Pierce will only confirm his suspicions. But we know now that he has reasons to be suspicious. So we be careful. If your childhood is mentioned by reporters or _anyone_ you evade. Answer with just enough.”

“And the House Banner?”

She nods as though that was her next topic to approach anyway. 

“Bruce is the only one in the House who handles your medications. Lady Ross helps him in the labs though. She’s not aware what it’s for, but, under the current circumstances, I believe it’s best she’s told. This way, if someone starts asking questions, she can be better prepared.”

Steve sighs. These are things he already knew. Courses of action that he’s well aware need to be taken. Somehow, hearing Sarah confirm it is both relieving and damaging. Though no longer a child, it’s sometimes hard to shake the image of Sarah as being this hero of his. Someone who could chase away bedtime monsters and dark sky nightmares with soft holds and precious lullabies. There are no lullabies to be had today. No lullabies to rid them of this monster. 

“Mom? What about… what do _I_ do?”

“You mean about your husband?”

The thought weighs heavy on Steve’s heart. Made of lead and yet beating as normal. He doesn’t know how it can go on beating when it feels this way. Perhaps all those years of it not working properly have made it stronger. 

“Yes.” He whispers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you _want_ to do?”

Steve lets out one bark of a laugh. Humorless. Outside, a wind howls at his reaction. The world in agreement, he thinks. At least for once it’s on his side.

“What I want to do is go back,” He admits, “and feel like I felt _before_ all this.”

Sarah pats his thigh and shakes her head. A touch of comfort that’s not truly meant to help. 

“That’s not going to happen, Steve.” She reminds him. “So let’s try it this way. Has this changed how you feel about him?”

“I…” Steve’s first answer is yes. But he can’t bring himself to say such a thing. It’s simply not true. “No. I love him.” The words are freeing to be said to someone. “I love him so much, Mom. Which is why… why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me? All this time? I’ve tried _so hard_ to be good to him. To show him I’ll do anything for him. And he didn’t _tell_ me and all I keep thinking is what could I have done differently? Did I do something wrong? Keep him from thinking he could tell me sooner?”

“Steven, you did all you could. You might be the headship in your marriage, but nothing you do will ever give you control over your husband’s mind. Do you believe him when he admits feelings of guilt?”

“Oh yes,” Steve doesn’t doubt that at all. “I know he’s sorry.”

“You see? You don’t know what he’s been feeling all this time. If maybe he was fearful a to tell you because he didn’t want you to feel this exact way. Or if he hoped you just never had to find out. Spare you this. The question _now_ is,” Sarah states, “can you forgive him?”

“I have to.” He rattles his head. “I already promised I would. And… yes. I want to.”

The problem is, he’s not sure how to do that. Steve’s not so much angry with Bucky as he is hurt. His mother is right when she says he doesn’t know what was going through his husband’s head all this time. 

Steve thinks back on his marriage. Back to wedding day chess matches and post reception illnesses. Shy mornings and closed off nights. Walls thick and sturdy that have been chiseled at and started to crumble willingly. His husband surrendering his heart to Steve a little at a time. 

“It doesn’t have to happen today,” Sarah tells him. “Not even tomorrow. But when it does, that’s it.” She takes Steve’s hand in both of hers and gives it a squeeze. It’s weak. Feeble even. Steve tries not to think about that. “If you’re going to forgive him, then you do just that. You don’t let this marriage sit where it is otherwise it will go stale. And when you _do_ forgive him, you don’t look back. You move forward otherwise you’ll never go on.”

“But I want to forgive him _now_.” It’s almost a whine. And Steve cracks a smile at his own petulance. “But I’m still… sad?” Steve shrugs. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“You’re _allowed_ to be, Steven.” Her mouth curls up in a smile. “And I never said he didn’t need to _earn_ your forgiveness. He adores you, your Bucky. Completely in love with you.”

Steve could laugh. Seems the world could see that before he could. He wonders if the same could be said for him. It is a lovely feeling though. Fills him to the brim with joy. His husband loves him. They’re in love.

Sarah says, “Now, where is your husband? I desire a few words with him.”

This time Steve _does_ laugh. 

“He’s hiding. I believe he’s afraid of you at the moment.”

A proud sort of grin pulls up on her face. Brightens it a lot more than it’s been. Dawn breaking over the horizon. 

“Well no one hurts the ones I love,” She remarks with a slight lift of her chin. “And I think he needs to hear that from me. So would you fetch him for me?”

“Sure,” Steve smiles and rises from the sofa. From plush cushions that have hugged him and his husband during firelit evenings of sweet chats and new beginnings. He’s turns back to Sarah as he leaves the room. “Mom?” Her eyes were closed. Tired. She looks too tired. Even when she opens them again and smiles. “Thank you.”

“Of course, angel.”

Rain pounds against the windows. Big fat drops of water calling attention to Steve as he makes his way up the stairs. Sliding down the glass and streaking wiggled shadows along the smooth banister. There to cleanse and renew. 

Steve gets to the bedroom quickly. The door is still shut tight. As if somehow Bucky can make the world disappear if he just stays in there. The wood locking the rest of the problems away from him. Steve knocks twice. Knock, knock. And opens the door. 

“Bucky?”

There’s a fire lit the fireplace. Big and roaring. Tossing a sweet glow across the room in the dim light of a rainy day. His husband is over at the window seat across from their bed. One of Steve’s sketchbooks in his lap. He looked up at soon as Steve entered the room. Eyes full of worry. Furrow between them.

“She wants you to leave me, doesn’t she?” Bucky asks immediately. “Does she? She does, doesn’t she?” His lip quivers and he takes a breath. “Please say she didn’t tell you to divorce me.” He shakes his head as his fingers catch over his mouth. “Sh-she hates me, right? Steve, does she want us to divorce?”

Steve misses the next few frantic questions that Bucky throws at him. His mind has blanked. Ears going with it. That’s what he’s been so scared of. Not just of Sarah being angry with him, of her yelling at him. Legitimate fears, of course. More than that though. Bucky’s been worried that Steve’s going to be advised to seek a divorce. To leave him. The idea of it has him panicked. Bucky loves him that much. 

Warmth floods through his body. Swathing around him like the first rays of light on a warm summer’s day. His heart is filled to the brim with joy. So full it could burst. Strange, maybe, but Steve doesn’t care. It’s his. And he’ll revel in it. 

“Bucky.” Steve pulls the authority of being headship in his voice. His husband’s mouth snaps shut. Eyes go wide, recognizing the tone. “Come over here.”

There’s no hesitation. Or, if there is, Steve can’t tell. Bucky simply puts the book to the side and slides off the seat. He comes over, lip tucked and an unsure fog settling across ice clad eyes. Steve runs his hand over his husband’s shoulder down to his hip. 

“Yes? Steve?”

Steve keeps that hand on his hip and makes his grip tight along it. Almost mean. The other he puts the other at that spot between Bucky’s shoulder and neck. A spot for him.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully right now.” He waits for a nod before going on. Even if Bucky looks both focused and distracted at the same time. “You’re _mine_. _My_ husband. _My_ spouse. _My_ Sweetheart. _No one_ is going to take you from me. Understand? No one.”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer. Instead of any words coming out, all that happens is a whimper. Soft and broken at that. His eyes close and under the weight of Steve’s hands it feels as though he might sway a bit. Steve presses his lips to his husband’s forehead. 

They’re still there when he says, “I asked you a question, my Sweetheart. Do you understand?”

Hands finding Steve’s waist, Bucky must gain back some of equilibrium that’s been stolen from him. Just another one of the things Steve loves about his husband. The right touch, tone of voice, words--they all do such wonderful things to him. Produce beautiful reactions. 

“Yes, husband.” Bucky breathes and tilts his head just enough to get Steve’s lips to them again.

“Why were you looking at my book?” He asks. Fingers under Bucky’s chin to tilt his gaze up to him.

Bucky blinks the daze away and shakes his head. He’s not sure what Steve is talking about. Steve asks him again.

“O-oh,” Bucky glances over his shoulder to the discarded book. Flat on its spine. Whatever page he was on waving at them. “Um, I like them. Your sketches. Looking at them, I mean.” He rattles his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve murmurs. “You’re welcome to look.” He takes in a deep breath. “She wants to talk to you.”

“She?” There’s still some fog left. One word is all it takes to clear it. A strong wind that blows it away. Bucky’s eyes grow large. “She… wants to talk to me? Oh. Oh no. Oh, Steve…” He whimpers again. This one a new sound. Panicked again. “Oh no… please… no, no…”

He’s not denying Steve. He wouldn’t do that. This isn’t a request from his husband. It’s an order from his headship and Bucky knows the difference. 

“Come on, Bucky.” 

Taking him by the shoulders, Steve guides him out of the room. Bucky throws a frantic glance over his shoulder as they go down the stairs. Unmistakable pleading in his eyes. _Please don’t make me do this._

“It’s going to be okay.” Steve says.

Bucky starts to drag his feet a bit the closer they get to the drawing room. He clings onto the bottom of Steve’s shirt when they get there. Head lowered and unable to look up. 

“Ah, there you are.” Sarah greets when they come into the room. It doesn’t look like she’s moved all that much since Steve’s left. Even out of the position he left her in. “I was wondering what was taking so longer. Hello, Bucky.”

“H-hello, Sar-Lady Rogers.” Bucky replies. A frog in his voice. He still hasn’t looked up. In fact, Steve’s not sure if he’s breathing. 

“Come,” She pats the cushion next to her. “Join me for some conversation. Truvie’s only just brought a fresh pot of tea. And it’s Sarah, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Y-yes, ma’am… I mean, Sarah.” 

Steering Bucky to the couch, his husband still looks like he might be ill. He sits down when he’s there. Stiff and trembling a little. Hands tucked in his lap, eyes downcast. When Steve goes to sit next to him, Sarah shakes her head.

“No, no,” She says. “This is _our_ chat. You can go now, Steven. You’ve done your job.”

Steve’s mouth drops open. Bucky’s staring up at him helplessly. Thoughts of being left alone with Sarah have him even more panicked than just talking with her. 

“But… I…”

“Go on now,” She flicks her fingers towards the door. “If your husband decides to share what we speak of together then that’s his business. Otherwise please excuse us.”

This might be Steve’s house, but it seems when Sarah’s in it, he’s still going to listen to her. Palms out in defeat, he backs out of the room and leaves his panicked husband with his mother. 

When they emerge about twenty minutes later there are tears in Bucky’s eyes and he’s helping Sarah walk. Supporting her weight as they as they head towards the front parlor. 

Like Sarah promised, she says nothing about what went on between her and Bucky. She hugs Bucky when she’s ready to leave just a little bit later. While wrapped up together, Sarah whispers something in his ear. Something that makes Bucky smother his face in her shoulder and hold back tears. 

“What happened in there?” Steve asks as he’s walking her to the motorcar. Umbrella up and over them. Mostly Sarah. Steve doesn’t mind the cold rain that drips down his neck so long as she’s dry. “What’d you talk about?”

“Well now that’s between us,” She almost scolds. Index waggling and everything. A gesture he’s not seen in years. He can practically hear it saying _ah-ah-ah_. “Unless your husband decides to share it with you. And that is completely up to him. Now kiss your mother goodbye.”

Steve chuckles. “Yes, Mom.”

He leans in and pecks her cheek. Holds the umbrella over her perfectly to shield her as best as possible as he helps her into the cabin of the motorcar. 

“He loves you, honey.” She says before he closes the door. “And you love him. You’ll be okay. And we’ll handle Lord Pierce as a family. He won’t touch our House.”

A breath of fresh air rushes through him. Sarah was right to come over. While Steve might not be completely ready to forgive his husband, he feels better. The weight of the world no longer so heavy. 

“Thank you, Mom. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Steve. Now get back inside before you catch your death of cold.”

Even though that’s so far proved untrue ever since the procedure. The medications pumping through his blood keeping his body strong. That doesn’t mean Sarah has lost her protective instinct. 

“Yes, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too, angel.”

Steve closes the door for her. Before Stiles drives away, Steve can see her rest her head back. Once again she looks too tired. Energy melting away under the guise of privacy. 

A chill slithers up Steve’s spine. Cruel and mean as it slowly curls between the individual vertebrae. Sarah’s health is fading faster than she cares to admit. 

With a sigh, Steve turns to get back inside. Where it’s dry and warm and his husband is waiting. Right in front of the stairs. Anxious and timid. Lifting his fingers in a cautious wave. Instead of returning the gesture, Steve shakes the umbrella off and puts it in the tall, copper stand next to coat rack. The disappointment that fills Bucky’s face is obvious. He tries to hide it, but Steve catches it before he fixes a neutral smile on his face. 

Only rather than simply ignoring him as his husband might suspect is happening, Steve opens his arms. One, quick jerk of his head is all the invitation Bucky needs and he’s--trying not to throw himself--in Steve’s arms.

“That new rule, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “I expect you to follow it.”

His face is hidden against Steve’s chest so Steve can feel the smile that pulls up on his lips. Bucky turns his head so that one side is nestled there instead. The arms around Steve’s body squeeze.

“I love you.” He whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, baby.” Steve runs a hand over Bucky’s head. Whatever bit of affection he can give he will. He’ll never deny Bucky what he can give. “What did she say to you?” He asks. And then says, “No wait. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I promise, I won’t be mad.”

“She told me…” Bucky sniffles and Steve can see his lip tremble, “She said that she didn’t blame me for what happened that day. And that I never have to be afraid to come to her. Because she… she’d never let anything bad happen to her…” His breaths become shaky, “to her son.”

There’s a hitch in Bucky’s voice when he gets out that last part, volume dropping just below a whisper. When Bucky glances up at him, Steve realizes that the son in question here isn’t _Steve_ , but _Bucky_. Not out of tradition and Society norms. Not because Bucky’s married up to Steve and legally belongs to the House of Rogers. No. Because Sarah Rogers truly considers this man to be part of the family. With every ounce of her heart, she’s accepted Bucky as his own person, but also an extension of Steve. Another son to love, cherish and protect. 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers. “Is it okay if I love your mom the way I love my own?”

A breath catches in Steve’s throat. A few short months ago, Bucky didn’t even want anything to do with him. Today, he’s asking if it’s okay to love Sarah. So many changes. 

“I would love it, Bucky.” Steve answers. “She would love it. And I don’t blame you either. Just so you know. I don’t blame you for what happened with Lord Pierce.” He sighs and runs fingers along the fine hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Kiss me, Bucky.”

Bucky’s holding his breath when he glances up at him. He blinks, his expression caught between astonished and confused. Last time he tried to kiss him, Steve didn’t let him. 

“Are you… you’re sure, husband?” Bucky sounds so distressed. Ready for heartbreak if Steve says no again. 

“Yes, Bucky.” He assures him. “I want to trust you again. But you need to know that you can still trust me. And you can. I’m not…” Steve sighs. “I’m not okay yet. I don’t know when I’ll be. But you can trust me. No matter what happens, this marriage? I don’t want to be anywhere but here. With you. You have my word.” There’re tears in Bucky’s eyes. Filled to the brim but not tumbling over. “Now kiss me.”

Bucky breathes out a moan when he pushes his lips against Steve’s mouth. Those tears must have spilled over. Steve can feel them. Moisture that grazes along his cheeks. There’s a pit in his stomach, but he ignores it with his husband’s mouth against his own. Steve rests his hand on the back of Bucky’s head. Pulls him in _just_ a bit closer. He’s made a promise to his husband. He’ll trust him again. He’ll do what it takes not to lose Bucky’s trust. And he seals that promise with a kiss. 

***

The path is littered with patches of ice. Not enough to fully stop them from running, but enough that Steve and Sam need to veer around them and keep from stumbling into each other. Steve laughs when they almost collide again. A puff of frost bursting from his mouth as he does. Sam has his hands on Steve’s shoulders as he laughs along with him. They try to keep going, but only end up laughing when it happens again just a few feet later.Their pace slows significantly and Sam wraps an arm around his waist to keep from falling over. 

“Think we should head back?” Sam chuckles as he catches his breath. 

While Steve’s not out of breath from running like Sam, thanks to the procedure, he does need to take a breath from all the laughing. 

“Probably,” He agrees. “Doesn’t look like we’re gonna get much further.”

There is a lot more ice farther down the road. Seems best to just call it a morning. They’re already turning around to go back.

“Is your husband going to be serving us coffee this morning?”

Steve sighs. Sam’s meant it as a joke, but Steve can’t really bring himself to laugh at it. The past few weeks _has_ seen Bucky rising with him every morning. Pulling himself out of cozy blankets and welcoming pillows to walk Steve down when he leaves with Sam. Always at the door with two cups of freshly brewed coffee made up just the way they both like. An invitation to Sam to join them for breakfast that he’s made. Which he’s gotten much better at since that first attempt. Apple and cheddar tartines, freshly made oatmeal, eggs benedict, omelets, and waffles and flapjacks and other dishes Truvie’s helped him with. 

“Probably,” Steve answers with an added smile. 

“So, are you ever gonna tell me what happened?” Sam asks. 

A knot pulls in Steve’s stomach. One breath crashing into the next.

“What’d you mean?”

“Oh come on, Steve,” He pats his back. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. You two haven’t been the same since your dinner party.”

Of course. How could he not tell? Things aren’t the same. They’re not _wrong_ , but they’re not right either. There’s unease and hesitation whenever he’s with his husband. Kisses and hugs and closeness. There’s something missing. Not always. Sometimes Steve forgets to be cautious. Forgets that their world has been thrown off and the stars have not realigned for them. 

“It’s just… something happened that night,” Steve admits. “And I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

Sam tugs a bit at his wrist. Gets him to slow down enough that they’re barely even walking.

“Is everything okay?”

“It, well…” He groans a little. “I know it will be. I’m just trying to get us there.”

“By yourself?” He shakes his head. “Steve, you do realize that this marriage contains _two_ people, right?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Steve nods. “But, Bucky and I… it’s complicated right now. I’m trying. He’s trying. It’s just that… I miss him.”

Saying it out loud hurts even more. Because it’s true. Steve misses Bucky. Misses playing with him and teasing him. Morning kisses and bedtime cuddles. Sheets ruffled beneath them as they do nothing to keep their hands off each other. 

“Okay,” Sam takes in a deep breath. Must hear the hitch in Steve’s voice. See the pain in his eyes. “Okay. Come here,” He brings them over to the nearest bench. Ice glistening off the bottom. They sit and Sam says, “Look, whatever’s going on, you’re hurting. You need to ask yourself what’s going to hurt more. How you feel _now_ or how you’d feel if you… move on.”

Move on. Can it be that simple? Just open his heart up again and let it go. Invite Bucky back in and move on. Like Sarah said. Forgive and just move on.

“I want to.” Steve admits. “I want to just let it go. Sam, I, I’m scared.” His voice falls to a whisper. “What happens if I can’t do it? And I lose him?”

“No. Not gonna happen, man.” Sam wraps an arm around his shoulder. “First of all, the Lord Rogers I know is much too stubborn to give up when it’s something he feels so strongly about. And secondly, Lord Barnes isn’t about to let you go anytime soon.”

Steve chuckles. “I hope. I really do, Sam.”

“I’m telling you. Whatever happened, you clearly want to let it go. Now you just have to do it.” Sam pats his thigh. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy.”

“Thanks, Sam. I mean it. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Do you want to get back?”

“You know, actually, I think I’m going to stay here for a bit. I have some things I need to think about.”

“Okay. Just remember to take care of yourself, Steve.” 

Before leaving, Sam hugs him, tells Steve once more that everything’ll be okay, and heads off. Then Steve finds himself alone. On a bench in the middle of the empty park. Cold winds circle around him and Steve wonders about that coffee that Bucky’s probably prepared. He smiles at the thought of it. 

These past two weeks haven’t been the easiest. Awkward pauses and silent mornings. 

New Years has come and gone. A champagne filled night at City Hall. Shimmering lights and music soaked rooms. Dancing ladies and gentlemen of Society dressed in their finest. Pearls and diamonds and cufflinks. Shining tuxedos and glittering gowns. 

They only stayed right till a few strokes past midnight, but Bucky stayed by Steve’s side the whole time. No matter how often Steve insisted it was fine if he went off to spend time with his friends. Who Steve had thought enough to invite to their table for dinner. Sam, Peggy and Gabe ate with them, too. Tony and Pepper joined them for dessert. But Bucky rarely left Steve’s side. Even sought permission to do so the few times he did.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve tells him as Bucky sits with him and watches the dance floor. “You can go dance.”

He means that. Steve won’t be angry with him for going off and dancing. It’d be okay for him to get up and dance and ring in the start of another year with friends and music, twists and twirls. 

But he’s also _not_ okay with it. Not because Steve doesn’t want Bucky to enjoy himself--he does; one of them should--but because Sarah and Joseph aren’t there. Unable to attend. Curious questions have been answered with _They decided to ring in the start of a new year at home. Is that a crime?_

Steve’s answers are always delivered with a sharp edge. A tone that dares any reporter on the outside or busybody on the inside to keep prodding where they shouldn’t prod. An unwise choice should any pursue it. Bucky still stays at his side. Soft touches. A brush along his arm, an arm around his waist. Keeps Steve leveled when the world tries to push him off-balance. 

Still, each time Steve asks if Bucky wants to go off, insists that it’s fine, Bucky replies with, “No thank you, husband. I’d rather stay with you.”

Which he’s glad of. For more reasons than one. Steve desires to start this next year, a change in time, new beginnings, fresh starts, with his husband. Put the last few days behind them. Celebrate together.

The change in behavior was noticed, too. As mentioned the following morning in the papers. 

**Perhaps, after all this time, the young Lord Rogers has found a way to reconcile his fear of tradition and will now perform his duty to take proper headship over his spouse. Lord Barnes was spotted dutifully at his headship’s side all night long. Mild mannered and speaking when spoken to rather than off galavanting with the rest of the room.**

**Sources close to the couple say they’ve recently experienced a setback in their “progressive” marriage. Has this so-called setback served as a sign to Lord Rogers? Given him the push he needed in order to see the error of his ways? Will this lead Society to seeing Lord Rogers upholding tradition and finally accepting his role as headship? Time will tell.**

Steve flings the paper across the room, the pages scattering across the floor like drops of rain puddling on cobblestoned streets. Harsh and fast enough that it makes Bucky flinch. He’d read it out loud in the morning over breakfast. Since Steve says nothing after the initial grunt, Bucky slowly slips out of his chair and gathers up the paper.

He can hear the papers crinkling as Bucky stays where he is. Crouched down by the table.

“Steve?”

“Who would say that?” Steve growls into his palms. “Who’s this source of theirs? Who--”

“Brock.” 

That’s all that’s needed to be said. Steve lifts his head and turns to look down at him. There’s no need to have to convince him of his assumption. Steve already believes him. 

“Yeah?”

Bucky shrugs. “He’s angry. S’not the first time he’s done something like this.”

Steve sighs again and turns back to the table. Pinch on his face and lips curled in an angry scowl. 

“Fantastic.” He mumbles. “As if the end of the year hasn’t been bad enough.”

Those words come out like a bullet and Bucky’s gaze lands on the floor. The papers are all still cluttered together in his hands. His fingers grip tightly around them. Like doesn’t want them to fall since they’ll make a mess. 

That’s not fair of Steve. Not fair to put such a dismal twist on the end of the year based on what’s happened. Bucky looks as though Steve’s struck him. 

His head tilts up, eyes sweeping his way again, when Steve moves. Steve’s mouth falls open. Bucky’s expression tries to pull up and brighten when it’s just shadowed. 

Steve says, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Injury inflicted, unintentionally, of course, and Steve knows it. Not something he wanted to happen. A bandage offered.

“It’s okay.” Bucky whispers. 

He’s lying. Covering how he’s hurt to keep from stirring Steve’s guilt even more. 

“No, it’s not.” Steve argues. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But it’s true though,” He reminds him. “I ruined the end of the year for us. It’s only expected that…”

“Quiet.” 

Steve’s voice comes out quick and hard. More than he wanted. Landing on Bucky heavy and rough and Steve can see the moment it does. Bucky’s snapped his mouth shut and just gapes at him. Steve’s expression is just as hard as his voice. He doesn’t mean for it to be. Seeing Bucky like this, hurt by Steve’s hurt, it’s too much. He doesn’t want to feel this and most definitely doesn’t want Bucky to either. 

“S-sorry?” Bucky says, clearly not sure what he’s done to upset him. 

Bucky blinks and Steve’s expression softens. He scrubs hands over his face and huffs into them. 

“No, Bucky, I…” He rattles his head and when his hands lower, there’re tears hugging the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… that’s…”

Instead of finishing whatever he’s trying to say, Steve gives up and slips off the chair. Puts himself on the floor next to Bucky and when he looks at him again, Bucky has to see the pain in his eyes. All the frustration and desperation and exhaustion. 

“Steve…”

He cuts off when Steve hugs his knees. Stares straight ahead of him as though searching the air for some absolution that won’t come. 

“You once said you thought I always knew what to say,” He mutters. “That I always say the right thing. I guess I’m just dead set on proving you wrong.” Steve wipes at his eyes before any of those tears can escape. “I’m sorry, Bucky. Everything is just a mess. In my head, I mean. This is not the way I had planned the New Year’s Gala to go.”

“You planned something?”

A blush dances along Steve’s cheekbones. Darkens his skin lightly and he gives Bucky a sideward glance. 

“I just wanted it to be special. Our first one--”

“Second one,” Bucky whispers and then tucks his chin when Steve looks at him. “It’s just… it’s not _really_ our first, if you think about it.” He offers Steve a cautious smile. “Our first happened all those years ago, remember?”

For a second or two, Steve can only stare at him. Bucky looks away like he’s worried he’s done something wrong. On the contrary. Steve feels something stirring inside of him. Something soft and warm and he cracks a smile. 

“Keep saying things like that,” He whispers. “Please?”

It’s only been a few days since their dinner party. They’re still working around the aftermath of that earth shattering confession even if the admission of love gave them a starting place. This feels like another stepping stone.

“Um…” Bucky opens his mouth twice before trying again. “That first New Years? Maybe it set us on a path. Lead the way for where we’re supposed to be today. It was a sign that…”

Steve folds his lips in and Bucky knows immediately that he’s trying not to laugh. Since what he’s saying makes no sense but he’s trying to be romantic and make Steve feel all warm inside. Dizzy and lightheaded in most brilliant ways as he’s done before. 

“You’re laughing at me,” Bucky pouts. Cautiously playful. Eyes big and wide as though actually upset over such a thing.

Steve chuckles.

“You are positively adorable. And much better at being charming than sentimental when the occasion calls for it.”

“Aw, I’m trying!” 

“You do best when you’re _not_ trying,” Steve murmurs with an added touch to Bucky’s cheek. “And I love you anyway.”

Bucky grunts and sighs and smiles again. Leans forward and ends up with the edge of his hairline pressed on Steve’s shoulder. Still guarded. Just in case. But Steve is snickering and his hand rests on the back of Bucky’s head. 

“I love you, too.” Bucky says. He starts running his fingers over Steve’s thigh. Pressing a melody into the fabric of his pants. “I guess I’m not as suave as I thought I was.”

“No, you are. Your tricks just don’t work on me.”

“Truly, husband?” Bucky lifts his head and pulls forward the most endearing look he can manage. One that he’s used before, to make Steve hold in a whimper. Weakens his knees. “None of them?”

Steve’s hard exterior, the shell he’s been wearing the past few days--strained smiles and guarded looks--it cracks. Just a little, but enough to make that little whimpered noise. Like he both can’t stand and absolutely adores the way Bucky’s looking at him right now.

“Okay,” He whispers. “Maybe you have that one.”

Bucky almost moves in to remind him of another trick he has up his sleeve. A stolen kiss. Out of the blue. Unexpected shooting stars across the dark night sky. He keeps himself from doing so. Probably unsure if Steve will appreciate the act like he has in the past and even more unsure if he can handle it if he doesn’t. Steve isn’t sure either. 

“Well, I do need to have a little something up my sleeve,” He says as he continues to play silent songs along Steve’s leg. “I wish it was more like playing the piano though.” Bucky sighs and adds his other hand to the symphony. “I can move from one song to the next with little difficulties.”

“Beautifully, too.” Steve comments. “I like it when you play. It’d be nice to just do that all day. Just listen to you play.”

Tomorrow starts routines again. Working schedules and the public eye. Steve’s already shaved just in case he needs to work from City Hall. Bucky will be spending all day out of home again. Back at the hospital. Steve is nervous about that. About what’ll happen when Bucky’s on his own again. He hates it. 

A bit of sun trickles in through the far window. Landing upon them and dancing sweetly across their bodies. Bucky’s fingers still.

“I can… I can play for you now?” He offers. “I mean, on command and everything. You are my headship afterall. S’not like I can say no.” Bucky smiles when Steve eyebrows go up. “I’ll sing for you, too. If you want. You did say you liked that, if I remember correctly. Whatever you want, Steve.”

There’s a tight smile on Steve’s lips. Twitching slightly and threatening to grow larger at any second. 

“Are you sucking up to your husband, Bucky?” He asks. 

“Yes,” Bucky admits. Grin sheepish and eyes gleaming. “Is it working?”

“I must confess, sir, it is.”

Bucky smiles. He takes hold of Steve’s wrists and stands. Tugs at his husband’s arms.

“Then come with me, husband. Please, please, _please_. Let me play for you.”

There’s resistance. Steve doesn’t come up with him and Bucky face falls as he rethinks his idea. Until half of Steve’s mouth turns up. Relief floods through him. Teasing. Steve is teasing him. So Bucky pulls again and this time Steve lets him help him to his feet. 

He smiles at him once he’s standing. A little bit more than how he’s been smiling. Maybe this is a good start. Even better when they sit down at the piano and Bucky plays for him. He sings for him. Maybe a little over enthusiastic with hopeful smiles and teasing bumps with his shoulder. 

There’s been ivory keys and soft voiced songs everyday since then. After supper when Bucky insists that he play for him since it makes Steve smile. Which is does each and every time. 

When Bucky comes home from work, he finds Steve right away. Tells him about his day. Piece by piece. If Steve is still working when Bucky gets home, Bucky sits in the library with him. There’ve been backrubs and applecakes and as many kisses as Bucky can get in. He cuddles up with Steve and wraps arms tightly around him. Head resting up against his chest. 

Steve has to admit all these little acts of extra affection, small doses of extra sweetness like the sugar Bucky likes to add to everything, they all make him smile. If anything, he knows how hard Bucky is trying. Wants so badly to show Steve that he’s still the same husband he has been all this time. The same, but also different.

This Bucky is not the same Bucky that Steve first married. He’s open and playful. Still sometimes shy about asking for affection, but loves it all the same. Smiles at Steve like he means it. Laughs with his heart. Full and eyes crinkling. Likes to touch Steve. Wants to be with Steve. Loves Steve.

Another cold wind blows across the park. Where Steve is still sitting. Alone. When he has a husband waiting for him at home. A home that’s opened up and invited them both to share. Together. And Steve knows his mom and Sam are right. It’s up to him now. 

In that moment, Steve’s found himself no longer angry or hurt. It all just went away. And that’s it. He thought he only had two options. To swallow his emotions. Push it down and try to let something else cover it. Find other ways to feel while it bubbled underneath. Or to take it out on the world. Turn his back on it. Make someone pay. Turns out there’s another option. For Steve to really decide to let it go. Only then, can it really be gone. 

Steve smiles and gets up. Tonight. Tonight, they move on. Tonight, they move forward. 

~~

Rain pounds against the roof of the motorcar. Hard and cold, a drastic change from the sun that was shining this morning. Bucky hopes it’s not a sign of what’s to come. Especially after how well things went with Steve this morning. His husband coming home from his morning run with Sam with a warm smile on his face. Happy to take the cup of coffee Bucky had all ready for him when he met him at the door. Steve leaned in and kissed him. Things felt right. Normal. His husband warming up to him again.

These past few weeks have been tormenting. Steve’s been trying so hard to keep things as normal as possible. For all his efforts, and Bucky appreciates all of them, he can feel the distance between them. It’s a cold and lonely feeling. One that Bucky’s been attempting to quell. To close that distance with sweet words and happy gestures. An evening at the piano. A book’s chapter before bedtime. A backrub and as many clinging cuddles as Bucky can get. 

Bucky’s spent all this time talking as much as he can. Kissing whenever Steve feels comfortable. Playing and singing for him. Steve’s favorite song seems to be _You Are My Sunshine_. So Bucky plays it every night. Hums it when they’re in bed. He reads to him. Words from the classics that take them to a world where they don’t need to worry about what’s happened here. Books that have taken a liking to Bucky and happy to lend whatever help they can.

Okay, so Bucky’s been sucking up to him. He really can’t help it. All he wants is for Steve to know how much this marriage means to him. Steve’s proved time and time again that he’ll do whatever it takes to make Bucky happy. All he really needs is Steve. Now Bucky needs to return that. 

He sighs and rests his head up against the window. Watches the world go by through glossy streamers that streak across the glass. Bucky can only hope that Steve’s mood is still the same. That he’ll get home and his husband will want to kiss him and hold him. 

It’s still raining by the time Stiles is pulling the motorcar up in front of home. Bucky grimaces at the heavy drops falling from the thick clouds above. He doesn’t have an umbrella and he can easily foresee a very wet and cold future. Knows it’s unavoidable when Stiles turns from the driver’s seat and asks if he minds terribly if he doesn’t open the door for him.

“Of course not, Stiles,” Bucky assures him. “It’s fine. I’ll get out on my own.”

“Thank you, m’Lord. Is it possible for you to tell Miss Truvie I’m back, sir? She asked that I take her to the market this evening.”

“Sure. I’ll let her know you’re waiting.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Bucky prepares for the gruelling trip up the walkway. He pushes the door open and gets slapped with a horrible wet and cold wind. Groaning, he slips out of the car, lets loose a bouquet of whiny swears and curses as the freezing rain soaks through him, and slams the door behind him.

He’s about to make a mad dash for the front door. All he needs to do is get through the iron gate and up the brick steps. Hopefully they don’t try to stop him in any way. Because all Bucky wants is to get inside. Maybe warm up by the fire. Steve’s arms around him and cozy cups of hot cocoa. The image already has him a little warmer. Bucky takes a step.

“Excuse me, Lord Barnes?”

Bucky stumbles over his feet and comes to a halt. The voice is just loud enough the break over the rain. It comes from a small, stout man. Bespectacled and dressed in a proper day suit, he has the collar of his overcoat pulled up to shield him from the rain the umbrella his valet holds for him doesn’t. 

“Um, do I know you?” Bucky asks. Shoulders pulled up since he’s now officially drenched. 

“Oh, no, no. This is not a personal visit.” The man says. He has an accent. Thick. Pronouncing ‘this’ as ‘dis’ and ‘is’ and ‘iz’. “But you are Lord Barnes, is this correct?”

“Oh, yes. I’m Lord Barnes. Can I help you with something?”

“I hope so. I’m running so late,” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a brown papered package. “I was supposed to deliver this hours ago, but we had troubles with transportation,” He points to the idle motorcar across the street. “Would you mind signing for this?”

On top of the package is a destination slip. All filled out and ready to be signed so that proof of delivery can be made.

“Uh, well, maybe I should get Truvie,” Bucky says. “She’s the one who…”

“It will only take but a moment, sir. And I have several other packages to deliver before the evening is over.” He holds the package out. Pen in the other hand. “If you’d be so kind.”

“Um, yeah, yeah, okay.” He takes the pen and scribbles his signature on the slip. If he hurries, he can just get inside quick. “What is this anyway?”

“From the House of Banner,” He tells him. “I am not told more than this. Just to deliver.”

Steve’s medicines, probably. As soon as it’s signed for, Bucky tucks the package in his arms. This is something to be handled with care. Steve needs them to be healthy. 

“Is that all?” Bucky asks. “Because if you don’t require anything else, I’d like to get inside.”

“Yes, yes. That is all I need from you.” He takes his pen back and tips his hat. “Very good day, Lord Barnes.” He nods to his valet. “We can go now.”

“Yes, Dr. Zola.” 

Bucky doesn’t wait to see them off. He simply turns and sprints inside.

Water drips off every inch of his coat. The ends of his hair are soaked; luckily his bowler hat has kept the top of his head a little drier than the rest of it. Cold drops slip down his neck as he shrugs out of the sopping coat. Hangs it on the coat rack and shivers. 

“Truvie?” He calls out as he walks towards the kitchen, the package just delivered still clutched in his arms. 

“Right here, m’Lord.” 

She putting dishes away. Drying the few that are still wet. Truvie smiles at him when he walks in. Holds in a laugh. He must look a mess.

“Take an umbrella to the market, Truvie.” He chuckles. “Otherwise you might drown. Stiles is waiting for you. Oh and…” Bucky hands her the package. “This came from the House of Banner.”

“Oh!” She exclaims. Then sighs. Relieved, Bucky thinks. “I was wondering where that was. I was nervous. Lord Rogers only has two doses left.”

“Why do they wait so long to send it then?” Bucky wonders.

“They’re not waiting, sir.” Truvie explains. “Dr. Banner is only able to make a small amount. Since no one knows what it is he’s doing with the ingredients he needs, he cannot make much of it. And it takes nearly a month to process. So, he sends what he can, when he can.”

Package in hand, she undoes the string around it and pulls off the paper. Inside the box is another, this one copper and latched closed. Keeping its contents safe for travel. So much so that it takes a bit of effort on Truvie’s part to get it open. It contains several small vials that Bucky recognizes as, just like he thought, Steve’s medicines. 

Truvie takes a moment to inspect them all. Makes sure none are broken, leaky or damaged, before closing the lid and gently putting it into the back of the icebox. She must see the question on Bucky’s face when she turns to face him again.

“It needs to be kept cool, m’Lord.” She explains. “If it gets too warm, it’ll dilute the ingredients and be less effective for Lord Rogers.”

“Oh.”

It’s really all Bucky can say. Though Steve’s told him about the procedure and medicines--something he’s probably been regretting for several weeks now--they’ve never really discussed the care he needs now. Bucky knows he takes the medicines. Has seen him giving himself the injections. But Bucky’s never thought to ask about them. How it works. What it does. And Bucky feels terrible about that. Trapped in his own thoughts, wrapped up in his own tragedy of a dreaded marriage that turned out to be the best thing in the world, and he never once thought to ask his husband about the very thing that keeps him healthy. 

_And Steve still won’t be mad_. His gut tells him. _Probably doesn’t even care. Especially now_.

The last part makes his heart twist, but he knows his gut is right. If Bucky had been raising questions about the medicines, maybe Steve would feel even worse. Have so many more suspicions than Bucky’s sure he already has. 

“How, um, how was Steve today?” Bucky asks quietly. As he’s been doing every afternoon since the rest of the world has gone back to it’s daily routines and left Steve and Bucky behind in this place of unease. 

In the middle of wiping her hands clean, Truvie gives him something of a pointed look. 

“I’m not so sure I’m at liberty to share such things with you, m’Lord.” She answers. “Might be a bit disrespectful to Lord Rogers.”

“But… what?”

Bucky rattles his head. Confused and totally flabbergasted. Everyday he asks her this and everyday Truvie’s been brutally honest. Never holds back for his sake. If Steve was crying, she’s told him. If he was angry throughout the day, she tells him. If he was okay, she lets him know. 

“I must be headed to the market, m’Lord,” Truvie responds with. Ignoring his puzzlement and passing him with a tiny smirk on her face. “Someone needs to keep food in the pantries in order to feed you and Lord Rogers.”

That’s all she says. Even as Bucky follows her back to the front parlor, Truvie simply tells him his husband upstairs as she bundles up--grabs an umbrella--and then heads out into the rain. 

Not sure what to make of what’s just happened, Bucky sighs. Runs fingers through his hair--which makes tiny drops of water hop off in all different directions--and glances up the stairs. They beckon him up, glad to bring him to Steve. Can this be a good sign? Despite the gloomy day, maybe Truvie’s change in behavior means Steve is doing well today. 

Bucky goes up. One step at a time and Steve’s voice begins to drift down them. Warm and sweet. Not tinged by any of the anxiety and pain that it’s held recently. He must be on the telephone. Bucky slows when he realizes he’s speaking French. 

A chill slithers through Bucky’s body. Slow and steady. Washing through him and sinking into the very marrow of his bones. His husband hasn’t taken him since the night before their dinner party. The very least of his worries, of course, but hearing those words wrapped in something foreign and unknown, wisps of anything possible, it makes Bucky weak at the knees. 

Creeping up to the top landing, Bucky peers around the wall. Holds in a whimper at what he sees. Steve’s back is to him. And he’s not wearing a shirt. Still speaking French with someone on the telephone and Bucky leans his head against the edge of the corner to just listen. Just a few moments with nothing between them. No walls up. 

“Un moment.” He hears Steve say. Bucky’s lip is buried under teeth as though he can shove his desires away like that. “I know you’re over there.”

Bucky’s eyes pop open. He didn’t even realize they were closed until the English startles him. His throat is dry and he has no idea what just happened. Steve’s head turns just a little bit as though he’s about look over his shoulder, but doesn’t.

“Come over here, James,” Bucky’s stomach twists. His husband’s never, not once, _never_ called him James before. “Right now. Listen to your husband.”

Authority in his voice. Hot and meaningful with the need to be obeyed. First swallowing the hard lump in his throat, Bucky tries to get his legs to do what he needs them to do. Work.

 _Please move_. He begs.  
_Go on_. They say. _We’re not the one stopping you_.

Once the cement cracks away, Bucky manages to get his legs moving. He finds himself trembling as he makes his way over. Not with fear. There’s no fear present at all. Only desire pushing against every single inch of his body. 

He steps around Steve so that he’s in front of him. Finds himself staring into his husband’s eyes. A smolder that lights a fire inside Bucky. A spark that catches and spreads. He hasn’t looked at him like that since the night of their dinner party. Steve has the mouthpiece of the candlestick phone pressed up against his chest. Until he hands the telephone to Bucky. 

“Hold this,” He murmurs and guides Bucky’s hand up so that he’s keeping it by Steve’s mouth. “Où étais-je?”

“Steve?” Bucky whispers.

But Steve simply shakes his head and holds his finger to his lips for quiet. Keeps right on having his conversation. It’s… horrible. Tormenting. Tortorous. Having to just stand there and hold the phone up for Steve while he stares right into his eyes and speaks French to whoever he’s on the phone with. 

After a few sentences, Steve makes it even worse. He licks his lip. Slow. Sensual. And very much on purpose. 

“Oh shit…” Bucky whimpers. 

Steve shakes his head and shushes him without making any noise. As soon as he goes back to talking, Steve presses his hand against Bucky’s crotch. Starts to rub up and down while Bucky tries to keep the phone up for him. Not an easy task with his husband palming at the erection pushing against his slacks. 

The trembling comes on at the same time the panting does. Bucky’s doing all he can to not to groan. Even more not to drop the telephone. Steve’s hand pushes harder and Bucky bites on the air. Steve backs off just a little and then does it again. He keeps it up the whole time. Even ends up with Bucky pushed up against the wall. Steve’s hand grinding against him the only thing keeping his shaky legs from giving way.

“Merci beaucoup.” Steve says several agonizingly long minutes later. “Profitez de votre soirée. Au revoir, monsieur.”

Steve removes his hand and Bucky whines at the sudden absence. Hand moving slowly, he takes the phone away and hangs the earpiece on the hook. It smirks at Bucky, laughing at his predicament. He knew he never liked that phone. Bucky’s mind might be playing tricks on him, but he’s pretty sure that everything is moving slower. The air. His breathing. Steve. _Everything_ has slowed down. 

When Steve turns back around he smirks like nothing out of the ordinary has taken place and folds his arm.

“So, how was your day?” He asks. 

Bucky’s mouth does open, but nothing comes out other than a whimper. It climbs out of his throat all needy and pathetic and all he wants is Steve’s hands on him again. 

Still smirking, Steve reaches out and skims fingers along the side of Bucky’s face. Steals whatever coherency might have been left in him. Breaths backing up on him, Bucky holds in the tiny sounds that are desperate to come out. Especially since Steve does nothing more than that. 

“Steve…” Bucky breathes. “Husband… please…”

“Come here, Bucky.”

Heat rolling through his stomach, Bucky takes those few steps forward. Closes that little space between them. Steve runs fingers through Bucky’s hair before lunging forward and slamming their lips together. 

Bucky moans. A sound that comes from somewhere deep inside of him made out of lust and pure want and instinct. There’s no control over it. It happens again when Steve wraps a hand around the back of his neck. Possessive and controlling. 

A part of Bucky wants to scream. That part of him doesn’t even realize Steve’s moved them into the bedroom until he rips away from him and starts tugging his clothes off. 

Shivers run through Bucky’s body with the impact of all that’s happened. From the unknowing and unexpecting. Coming home to his husband like this. The feel of his body against his. Bucky hides his face in Steve’s bare chest as his husband undresses him. Peppers sweet kisses along his collarbone. 

They’re both wrestling with stubborn zippers, bulky fingers and haste making it difficult, but when Bucky eyes the pants that end up piled at their feet, a bolt of lust flutters through him. Strong and hard; so fast he’d leap into Steve’s arms if possible. But Steve is kissing him again. Trailing lips up his neck and pausing just at the corner of his mouth. 

“Tell me, Bucky…” He whispers. “I need…”

“I love you, Steve.” Bucky murmurs. “So much, husband. I love you.”

Steve lets out a moan and they sink down onto the bed. No longer rushing, Steve stares down at him. Taking him in. All of him. Bucky, on the bed, naked and displayed for him. Safer here than anywhere else.

“Look at you,” Steve whispers. Runs a hand along the length of Bucky’s chest. Stopping just at the tight curls around his crotch. “So beautiful. My husband…” He leans in and trails his lips across Bucky’s throat. “My Sweetheart.”

Flat on his back, Bucky finds himself trying to cling onto the moment. To stay here with Steve instead of floating away like usually happens. This proves incredibly difficult. Each touch leaving him more languid and peaceful and euphoric. Steve holds him for an indeterminable amount of time. Fingers mapping roads and paths along Bucky’s skin. Flushed and filled with heat that pulses off of him. Lips follow the trail made by his fingers and between every few kisses, Bucky can hear his husband’s quiet voice. 

“I love you.” He says. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “I love you.”

It’s the declarations that make it too hard to process anything other than pure, incessant desire and Bucky finds himself drifting in a daze. To a world where time stands still and all that matters is now now _now_. Lost in the decadent knowledge that Steve wants him again. Maybe never stopped. Sizzling and wanting. Aching with the insatiable need that only his husband can give. 

Those gentle touches soon become not nearly enough and Bucky needs _more_. The fire under his skin burning almost painfully.

Steve’s hand wraps around him and plays idly a bit. Not really stroking at all. Just toying around and that alone has Bucky moaning. Hands fumbling along Steve’s arms as he tries to pull him in close so he can continue kissing him. Words no longer working the way he needs them to. Steve gives him what he wants. Because it’s Steve and his mouth covers his own again.

Kisses are neat at first. Soft and gentle pecks that turn into something more feral and wanton. Sloppy and fast and pull fevered thrusts of Bucky’s hips. 

Everything is heightened. All noise is louder. All touches feel more. All taste is stronger. So when Steve slips a slick finger inside of him, Bucky cries out and shudders around it. Steve pauses just enough to move their bodies closer together. He might be asking Bucky something. Bucky isn’t sure. The world is draped over in luscious sparkles and glimmering stars. Too beautiful for him to focus on anything else. 

“Baby, come on,” Steve’s voice breaks through the fog swirling around his mind. “Answer me.”

Outside, the sun has set. Leaving only the dark clouds in the sky. No longer spitting out cold rain, but waiting impatiently above the occupied room. 

Bucky tries to focus. To give Steve his full attention. Eyes landing on him, Bucky takes in a deep breath. He nods. Can’t do much more than that with the glitter around him. It must be enough since Steve smiles.

“Okay. Okay that’s something.” Steve leans in and kisses him again. Which he shouldn’t do if he wants Bucky to be able to talk at all, but he does it anyway. “Is this okay? Again? You’re…”

“Steve…” Just one of the few words his brain hasn’t made mush of. “Love you… please…”

“You…” Steve grins. “Oh. Oh god. I love you.”

Bucky snaps his waist up only to have Steve snatch his left hip in his hand and pin him back down on the bed. Another finger slips inside of him and Steve fades from his vision. Or he closes his eyes. Bucky isn’t sure. All he knows is his husband keeps doing that, pushes his fingers in and out, scrapes tips along that sweet, treasured spot buried deep inside of him, until Bucky’s sobbing his name--or just sobbing--to the thick, sweaty air around them. 

He cries out when Steve’s hand moves away, leaving him empty and longing to be filled again. The mattress shifts under him and Bucky’s able to pull enough awareness into himself to know that Steve is hovered over him. Knees at the end of the bed as he gets into position. He waits though. Doesn’t move and Bucky figures out why in just a few seconds.

“Husband… please… yes…” He’s nodding his head. Frantically. Just needs to have Steve _inside_ of him. “Please… Steve…”

His hands are opening and closing. Fingers flying around as they try to find something to hold onto. Which he gets when Steve tangles his in them. Bucky squirms underneath him. The ache within him ubiquitous until Steve drives forward. 

Bucky screams out into the evening. The clouds finally getting what they’ve been waiting for. An arm sneaks under the arch of his back and Steve hoists him up. Lets him fall back onto him with a pleasant thud that sends shooting stars flying through night skies. New worlds blooming with every touch. Every thrust. Every moan into the sex soaked room. 

Limbs swathed around every inch of his husband they can reach, Bucky loses any ounce of control he has. Maybe never really had it to begin with. Not with Steve so easily able to take him like this. With such surrender already within Bucky. 

Everything is electric. Bolts pumping through his body anytime he moves, anytime Steve moves. Their lips finding friendship again. Whispered endearments between kisses. _I love you. Mine. Tell me, Bucky. Please..._

“Love… love you…” Bucky gets out between panting. His chest rising and falling hard and heavy. “My Stevie. Mine, mine, mine…”

Steve makes a noise at that. Something between a moan and a growl that has him burying his face between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. Teeth sinking into his skin. Not hard. Just enough to scrape against his body before Steve sucks and kisses and sucks some more. 

Just a few more thrusts has the universe unfolding in a splendor of glimmering lights and soundless thunder. Bucky tosses his head back in a jubilant cry of ecstasy. His husband has him though. Hand right at the back of his head to keep him safe. Secure. Anchored to the world even after Bucky’s shattered it. He’s still shivering. The aftermath of pure bliss washing over him in constant waves when a sob breaks through his chest. 

Tears spill over his eyes. Roll down his cheeks and drip off his chin. Steve stops and gathers him in his arms.

“Baby? Oh, fuck, Bucky…”

“No…” Bucky locks his arms around his neck. “Please… don’t…” He sucks in a ragged breath. Tries to pick the words that will make some sense. “Don’t stop. Finish. Please?”

“But… Bucky…”

“Husband…” All he can manage is a whimper. Even that’s difficult. “Please…”

“Okay, okay,” Steve soothes. Pets his hand over his head. Once. Twice. Down his back and rocks his hips. “Just hold on.”

Bucky sniffles and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. He moves slowly, keeping Bucky’s head cradled the entire time. Those tears still fall. Endless and streaming as Steve keeps going.

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky whispers. Soft as a hidden breeze on a blazing summer night. He whimpers and says it again. “I love you.” His voice breaks on the last words. “Love you…”

Steve holds him closer. Even tighter when he seizes and grunts. Kisses his neck over and over and then Bucky is on his back again. Steve has him in blankets and arms and Bucky’s sobbing again. For how long, he’s not sure, but it must be some time since Steve sounds incredibly worried.

“Please, baby, please try to talk to me.” He’s saying. “Bucky…” Steve presses a kiss to his nose. Then to each eye. “C’mon, love, please, come back to me.”

“Steve…” Bucky breathes and curls into him. Fetal and very much like a child and Bucky can’t bring himself to care. Not when Steve holds him. “I miss you.” His face is buried in Steve’s chest. He smells like sweat and lust and bedsheets. Bucky shakes his head in the safety of his husband’s body. “I’m sorry, husband. I know… I shouldn’t push. I can’t… I just miss you.”

“Sh.” He comforts. “It’s okay. Bucky, it’s okay. I promise.”

“No no no. It’s not okay. It’s not. I hurt you, Steve. I hurt you and your family and it’s not okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Steve goes on and on. Saying that over and over. _It’s okay. It’s okay, baby, it’s okay._ He rocks their bodies back and forth and eventually Bucky’s tears stop. Dry up as though his body just doesn’t have any more of them. 

It’s a strange feeling. Sinking back into his body. Rising back to himself after such a deep cry. Something he’d been holding in. Attempting to stay together for Steve’s sake. Steve is still caressing him when he feels awake again.

“Steve?”

“Hi, baby.” He says with a smile. Filled with hope and bringing Bucky back even more. “Feeling better?”

“I think.” Bucky wipes at his eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I… I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Steve kisses his nose. “It’s okay.”

“Steve? Why did you call me James before?”

Steve chuckles. “It got your attention, did it not?”

“Oh.” Bucky’s cheeks burn. “Yes. It did.”

“I’m sorry, though, Bucky,” He tells him. “If that was too intense too soon. I didn’t mean for it to be. I just…” Steve twists his lips. “I miss you, too.”

Hope blooms within Bucky. Cherry blossoms in springtime sun. He looks up at Steve and tries to sit. Can only manage with Steve’s assistance. His head is still a little dazed.

“Does this…” He’s almost too scared to ask. “Does this mean…”

“Yes.” Steve kisses him again. Right on the lips. Long and hard and passionate. Savors the taste even after he slips away. “I shouldn’t have taken so long. I’m sorry. We move on now. No looking back.”

“B-but, how?” Not that he doesn’t want to. It’s what Bucky wants more than anything. “Steve, I…”

“You’re sorry. And you’re forgiven. And I trust you. You trust me?”

“With my life.” Bucky whispers. All of his heart and soul in one whispered statement.

Steve smiles at him. A smile that Bucky knows. Honored and revered. Looking at Bucky like the rest of the world has disappeared around them. In this moment, in all moments, only the two of them matter.

“I love you, Steve.” Bucky says just as Steve says the same. 

They’re a little out of sync since Steve started a word or two first, but they speak together and then laugh. Steve opens his arms and without saying anything, Bucky falls into them.

“Listen, Bucky…” He runs a hand over the side of his face. “I’m not eating dinner here with you tonight.”

When Bucky goes to pull up, Steve’s grip around him gets tighter. His husband refusing to let him go.

“Why?” Bucky asks. “I thought…” No. It’s not because of what happened. Steve wouldn’t say all those things and then leave him in the lurch. An olive branch planted and then left out in the scorching sun. “But… House tradition…”

“House custom is that we eat together whenever possible. Tonight we’re not eating here together.”

“Oh.” The crushing disappointment is overwhelming. Bucky never thought it possible to feel so attached to someone. Especially since he’s pretty sure they’ve shared every breakfast and supper since being married. “Where’re you going then?”

“Out.” Steve says. “That’s all you need knowing.” When he starts to slip out of the bed, he turns back and smiles. “I’ll tell you more later. You have my word. And…” He reaches out and gives Bucky’s cheek a pinch. “Perhaps you’ll get to hear those five favorite words of yours.”

If anything will make Bucky perk up it’s the idea of being spoiled tonight by his husband. 

“You have something for me, husband? Really?”

“I might. You’ll have to see.”

Steve is already dressing and Bucky sits in the middle of the bed just watching. Considers it unfair. Him still there in all his nakedness, still mildly aroused, while Steve puts clothes back on. He leans back into the pillows. They agree as they offer him their comfort. This whole situation is just entirely ludicrous. 

“Steve?”

“Hm?” He answers distractedly as he buttons his sleeve. He’s actually dressing quite formally. Dazzling, too. Then again, Bucky always finds him breathtaking. “What is it?”

“Are you sure you can’t forgo whatever plans you have? However important they may be?” He wonders. Tilts his head when Steve turns to face him while he shrugs into his suit coat, smirking as he does. “Stay here with me?”

“I’m afraid not. Business of utmost importance.” He chuckles when Bucky pouts at him. “All in due time, good sir. You’ll understand later.”

“Oh alright.” For a moment, Bucky worries if perhaps he’s pushing the familiarity too soon. Then again, Steve’s said he misses him. Which must mean his misses _them_. “Go on. So you can hurry back to your husband.”

“Oh _yes_ , sir.” Steve laughs. “Is that how our marriage works now? Am I to honor and obey you then?”

“Obey? Hm? I’m not one for giving orders.” Bucky chuckles. “I’ll take honor though.”

Steve comes over. Slips fingers under his chin and tilts Bucky’s head back enough so that he can rest his lips against his. 

“Everyday, Bucky.” He whispers. “It’s an honor to be married to you.”

The world shadows over for a moment and Bucky outright giggles. He claps his hand over his mouth. Left hand over that. Seems neither of his hands can keep him from giggling even more. Cheeks bright red, Bucky smothers his face in his palms. 

Steve chuckles and kisses the top of his head. 

“I love you.” He says. “You’re adorable. And I have to go.”

“Mm. I love you, too.” Bucky gives him another pout. “Okay. I’ll walk you out.”

“No, that’s fine. Stay here and rest. I’ll see you later.”

Bucky gets one last kiss before Steve leaves and once he’s alone, he collapses back into the friendly pillows. They listen contently to the subsequent whine that follows. 

It only takes a few minutes for the gloom to show up. For a little black cloud to appear over the bed. Bucky swipes at it with attempted happy thoughts and a trip to the library after a nap and once he’s changed again. But he misses Steve. Silly as it is. Or maybe it’s not silly. Steve’s just come back to him. So much faster than he’d ever expected. But now he’s not here and Bucky wants more than anything to be with Steve. Which makes him feel utterly pathetic. It’s not like he can’t spend a few hours away from his husband. But… _ugh_ …

 _You don’t want to spend_ any _time away from your husband_. His heart tells him.

Bucky would try to argue. He just doesn’t have any argument to make. 

“Lord Barnes?”

His head snaps up. Bucky’d been looking down at the book in his lap even though he’d not been actually seeing any of the words on the page.

“Yes?”

Quite honestly, he’s not even sure who’s called him. Until he sees Truvie standing in the doorway. Returned from the market it would seem.

“You should dress for supper, m’Lord.”

“What? Why?” He questions. “Steve isn’t even here. Does it matter?”

“It does, sir. Lord Rogers wants you to.”

“Even though he won’t be here?”

“That’s right.”

“I… don’t understand.”

Truvie shrugs. 

“I think it’s just best to do as your headship wishes.” She tells him. “I’ve laid your suit out for you.”

“Um… o…” Bucky watches as Truvie turns and leave, “kay…”

Bucky’s washed and dressed within thirty minutes. In an evening suit too formal for a meal he’ll be eating by himself. Still confused over the necessity of having to be ready for supper when he’s eating alone this evening, he heads downstairs. He expects to go straight to the kitchen only to be met by Truvie at the bottom of the stairs holding his frock coat and hat.

“What’s all this?” He asks when he gets down there.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” She says as she holds his coat out for him. Bucky hesitates, but lets her slip it on him. “I’m a simple housemaid,” Simple housemaid. Right. Truvie’s anything but. “I just do as I’m told.”

He’s taking his hat from her when he says, “Truvie, really, what’s going on?”

All he gets is another obviously ignorant shrug before he’s ushered out the door. Where Stiles is waiting with the door to the motorcar open. 

“I suppose you’re not going to tell me what’s happening either?” Bucky asks.

“I’m afraid not, sir.” Stiles replies as he closes the door.

Bucky harrumphs and rolls his eyes. Reaches into the breast pocket of his coat for his cigarette case. As has become habit, he takes a moment to stare at the picture Steve thoughtfully put in there right before Christmastide. The one of the two of them. Black and white with just a splash of color. Just their eyes. It makes him smile.

What it doesn’t do is deter him from smoking the three cigarettes he tries to use as a distraction from his ceaseless fidgeting and endless impatience during the hour drive to the Isle--a drive he’s already made twice today. To what location, he still has no idea. For all he knows, he’s being taken somewhere to be abandoned on the side of the road. Unlikely, but possible. 

_Not possible, you imbecile_. His brain scolds. _You’re just cranky and Steve would never allow it._

Bucky crosses his arms and doesn’t bother responding. Since he knows it’s right and he’s acting like a baby.

When Stiles finally pulls over, Bucky’s surprised to see how far uptown they are. They’re right by The Central Park--a vibrant, ever-changing counterpart to the brilliant but static world around it. Where open horse drawn buggies are used for recreation rather than transportation and paths are lined with grass and trees and foliage. There’re foot bridges and fountains for wish making, wide open spaces and quiet away from the clamour of the city streets. A heartbeat of organic brilliance in the midst of an urban world that never sleeps. 

“What are we doing here, Stiles?” Bucky asks when the door opens.

Rather than answer out loud, Stiles gestures towards the large, front gates. Black and cast iron, mounted on a thick foot or so of concrete. People are gathered around and passing by. Ladies and Gentlemen of Society on their way to supper and get-togethers. A night out at the theater or an exhibit or the symphony perhaps. Maybe even a club for dancing and drinks and smokes. 

There’re also those not in Society. Peddling sweets and flowers and trinkets along the side of the road. Some just headed home from work. Dirtied and ragged after long hours in the factories on the outskirts of the city that don’t plague the finer worlds. A few are probably off to do whatever it is they enjoy doing as well. Stopping off at a greasy spoon or, for those who can afford it, a Nickelodeon. 

“I don’t understand,” Bucky says. “What’m I…”

He trails off when he sees what he’s looking for. His husband. Who emerges from the crowd of people with a smile on his face. Hands tucked loosely behind his back as he steps towards him.

“Steve?” Bucky, unsuccessfully, tries to hold in a laugh. “What’re you doing here?” He rattles his head. “What’re _we_ doing here?”

Steve leans forward and brings his hand forward. In it, is one long stemmed red rose. 

“Why I’m courting you, Lord Barnes.” He holds the rose out for Bucky. “Would you give me the pleasure of accompanying me to dinner, good sir?”

The flower is now in Bucky’s hand though he can hardly remember taking it from Steve. Bucky only stares at him. Lost in the sheer amazement that this man is _his_. After all that’s happened, Steve’s remembered the random slip of Bucky’s tongue when they shared a dance those few weeks ago. 

_It’s something I always wanted_ He’d said when Steve spoke of courting him.

But the world exploded after that. Fire and brimstone. Pulled apart by the very seams that Steve had stitched together. And now Steve is the one putting it back together again. With stardust and moonbeams and Bucky hides a smitten grin behind the blossom of his flower. 

“I…” He giggles like earlier. “I’d love to, Lord Rogers.” Bucky’s even almost too taken back with excitement to accept the arm that Steve’s presented. Struck bashful and shy and fitted with more giggles. “Thank you.”

Rose in hand, sweet scented and velvet touched, Bucky lets his husband--or, in the fantasy filled moment, his prospective suitor--escort him into the park. As they walk, Bucky can’t help stealing glances at Steve. There’s glitter in his eyes. Stars that shine brightly as though Bucky saying yes to this has brought him to the moon. 

Steve brings him to a waiting open carriage. The cabbie smiles and tips his hat expectantly as he opens the door. There’s a blanket folded over the side of the carriage. Steve takes it and helps Bucky up.

“Did you plan all this, husband?”

“Husband?” Steve holds his hand out to stop him. “Lord Barnes, I find it a bit forward of you to give me such titles, as sweet as it might be.” He tucks the blanket over them once he’s seated next to Bucky. “Why not see where this evening brings us before we discuss marriage?”

Bucky scoffs and leans his head against Steve’s arm. Brings the rose to his nose again and sniffs. Despite his little act, and that a courtship would be against such intimacy so soon, Steve puts his arm around him. 

When they reach the restaurant in the middle of the park--well-known by High Society, extravagant and elegant, not a place Bucky’s been to--Steve puts the act back on in full force. He walks on the outside of the walkway and makes a show of opening the door. Small doses of little things he usually does at home, like helping Bucky out of his coat, he does tonight differently. Bucky can’t really put his finger on how. There’s something more delicate about it. And the way he pulls his seat out for him when they’re shown to their table. Though it’s proper to remove his hat when indoors anyway, Steve did it as soon as he started his conversation with Bucky. A gentleman showing his chivalry. Proper upbringing for a proper courtship.

Steve showers him with compliments. Has the waitstaff bring them over samples of their desserts and feeds them to him. Asks the stringed quartet to play their wedding song, though refuses to call it such. 

“A sweet tune,” He calls it. “Perhaps one day we shall dance to it.”

They’re being watched, of course, just like when they ate out in the early days of their marriage. When Bucky was trying to perfect the House of Rogers’ table etiquette. Still the celebrity couple that Society wants to check in on. They want to see how far off the course of tradition Steve will allow his marriage to go. 

After finding out what Bucky wants to order for supper, Steve orders for both of them. Traditional. While they wait for their food, they make small talk. Casual conversation about their day while Steve continues to pretend they’re not yet married. Traditional. When their first course arrives, Steve asks for pepper for his salmon tartare while Bucky digs into his lobster and celery root salad. Undtraditional. In between courses, Bucky keeps with the facade and strikes up his own discussion. Just like their playful game. Undtraditional. 

What was your favorite childhood game? Playing with my toy soldiers (That was Bucky’s favorite, too), rocking horse and clockwork train. 

Bucky asks of the art exhibit, Captain’s, that opens at the end of next week and, keeping with their little act, wonders if Lord Rogers might be attending as well.

“I…” His face turns red. Steve gets a little nervous when talking about art. Bucky wonders if that’s to do with his fondness of sketching. “I have received an invitation. I do believe I shall be attending.” And for added effect he says, “Perhaps you’ll give me the pleasure of your company if you’re there.”

“I do hope to be there, sir.” Bucky laughs. “I might not be an art connoisseur, my parents brought me up right,” he throws a wink to Steve, “But I do know how to appreciate it well enough. And Captain’s work is very captivating. Do you like it?”

“Oh I,” Steve clears his throat. Takes sip of his wine. “I’m always more interested in the opinions of others when it comes to Captain’s work. It’s um… hard for me to put into words how I, uh, feel about it. But what about you then? What _are_ you a connoisseur in?”

Dancing, Bucky assumes, though he’s not quite sure one can claim to have an expertise in the dancing he does. Perhaps, Natalia does. Ballet isn’t quite the same as swinging. 

Steve keeps his hands to himself the whole time. Traditional. But Bucky hates it. Untraditional. As sweet as this is, and Bucky’s filled to the brim with sugar filled sweetness, all he wants is for Steve to touch him. Put his hand on his. Rest it at that favored spot between his neck and shoulder. Steve must know it, too. Every time Bucky glances at the hands Steve keeps pressed up at the edge of the table like proper etiquette calls for, he smirks. Knowingly. That gleam in his sunlit eyes sparkling deeper. 

It’s when their dessert comes, that Steve truly outdoes himself. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out an envelope. Rests it on the table with his hand over it.

“Okay, _maybe_ I’ve been a little over the top tonight,” Steve admits with an impish smirk.

“Oh just a little?” Bucky laughs. And twirls the stem of his rose between his fingers. “I don’t mind all that much.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He says. “But, well, I _do_ have something for you. If you’d be so inclined to accept it.”

“You might only be just courting me, Lord Rogers,” Bucky teases. “But I believe you know me well enough to know I’ll never decline a gift from you.”

Steve ducks his head down with a bashful smile. A few nerves hugging the corner of it.

“Ah, yes well, this one is a bit…” His gaze sweeps back up and those nerves have swam to his eyes, “different.”

The hand covering the envelope lifts and Bucky understands the anxiety. The envelope is closed by the waxed seal of the House of Barnes. A lump forms in Bucky’s throat. All traces of playfulness gone.

“What…” He tries to cough. Finds it hard. “What is that?”

“In here is…” Steve takes in a deep breath. He _is_ nervous. “Received today, from the Lady Barnes, is a blessing.”

“A blessing?”

Steve nods. “That’s right. In writing. A blessing that I can ask for your hand in marriage.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. The world spins around him too fast and too slow at the same time. 

“That’s from… you mean…” A smile grows large on his face. “Steve?”

His incoherent rambling and bright grin must calm some of Steve’s anxiety. He smiles in suit and nods. 

“There is a custom that those not in Society follow,” He says. “One that Society seems to think beneath them. I, myself, find it rather pleasant and sweet. And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d, um,” Steve needs a moment to contain his own grin. “I’d like to try.”

Bucky’s not really sure what Steve’s talking about. Not that it matters. He loves him so much, so strong, with every beat of his heart that he’ll be willing to do anything to make him happy. He nods. Unable to say anything since he might squeak and people are most definitely paying very close attention to them at the moment.

Upon receiving permission, Steve rises to his feet. He buttons up the loose buttons of his suit jacket to remain presentable to all those around them. Once he’s sure he’s retained the right amount of dignity demanded of a Gentleman, Steve holds his hands out for Bucky’s.

At first, Bucky assumes he’s going to help him up. Only instead of doing that, his husband simple gathers his left hand in both of his.

“I love you, Bucky.” He murmurs quietly. And then repeats louder so that those pretending they’re not watching can hear clearly. “I love you, my Sweetheart.” Steve folds his smile in before going on. “And, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter what happens. Whatever we face, at the end of any dark days, I want to wake with the sun in front of us,” 

And that right there is just for them. Tears fill Bucky’s eyes. He understands. With his free hand, he wipes the moisture away before they can betray him.

“I love you, Steve.” He whispers. Can’t get his voice any higher than that. 

Before Bucky can say anything else. Before anyone can voice any discontentment over the display going on, Steve drops down to bended knee. A gasp gets caught in Bucky’s chest. He _has_ seen this. Knows what Steve’s about to do. 

“Lord James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve says and twirls the ring already gently placed on Bucky’s finger with all the tender care in the world. “Bucky, will you marry me? Start each day with the sun in front of us?”

People around them are a mix of responses. Some have awed. Others have gasped in irritation. Another public display of affection by Lord Rogers--the headship that won’t do as he should. 

Bucky hardly notices. Background noise to some other event that doesn’t matter. All that matters is Steve. In front of him. His husband. Proposing marriage. Bucky nods. Maybe gets out the word yes, and pours himself into Steve’s arms. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve’s voice is right next to his ear. Lips kissing and arms engulfing. “Thank you for saying yes to me. This time, if not the first.”

“Every time, Steve.” He whispers. Wishes that he’d have had enough sense to know this then. “Always yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

To the stars and heavens and sun and moon. Always. To waking up to a brand new day. With his husband and never expected fairytale happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, everyone! So it took me an extra week longer than I had hoped to get this up. This chapter really fought with me. However, it did come in at only a couple hundred words shy of 20k. So there is that. Hope it's worth it! 
> 
> For anyone celebrating any holidays this weekend//week may you all have a lovely time!
> 
> Okay, family related incident happened only yesterday. A relative that needs 24/7 care which some of that responsibility falls on me had surgery and, as of right now, is doing relatively well, but we're taking things one day at a time, so just as head's up as to some of the stuff going on right now. I'm trying my best to stay on top of updates since writing is the one thing that's making me happy. I'm always super happy to take prompts, but my WIPs will always take top priority so I can't promise any time of publication. 
> 
> Also this week's gifs will feature a nsfw one at the very end so please be cautious if reading in a not private or semi-private place!! 
> 
> Now onto our images!
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> First we have Bucky the morning after trying to serve his breakfast 
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> Playing the piano for Steve and still feeling guilty and unsure
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> When Steve tells him they're out so he can begin courting him
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> And an adorable smile while Steve and he are playing "courtship"
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> Moving on to Steve the morning after and still struggling to make heads and tails of everything
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> After reading the blurb about them in the newspaper
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> Out to dinner and "courting" Bucky
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> And declaring out loud for everyone to hear that he loves Bucky right before asking for his hand in marriage
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> And for some nsfw fun, here's a fun image of them having some sexy times and make up sex
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> Well that's it for this run! Thanks so much for coming and being so patient! Believe it or not the story _is_ actually coming to an end. There's only a few chapters left. Don't ask me for a count cause sometimes I have to break things up, but we are winding down now! As always feel free to comment and//or stop by tumblr for more stucky and marvel fun at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	28. How is this 28 chapters already??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major shout outs to [steph79](http://steph79.tumblr.com/) and [caprebucky](http://caprebucky.tumblr.com/)for all their help with this chapter!

Soft winds blow up against the windowpanes. Sweet whistles that sing lullabies across the night as all the twinkling stars blink brighter with the lampposts out. Bits of leftover snow from earlier in the day move from spot to spot.

A sliver of moonlight dances happily across the bedroom. Pirouettes up bedsheets and pillowcases, nestling sweetly in Bucky’s hair. Steve slips his fingers through his sleeping husband’s soft locks. Keeps his touch gentle to not risk waking him. Hours bleed well into the night. Much later than the hours Steve should be awake for.

He watches his husband sleep. Chest rising and falling. Gentle, rhythmic movements that Steve would know with just the slight touch of his hand. His pillow is damp from the bit of drool that leaks from the corner of Bucky’s mouth that he, without fail, tries to wipe away discreetly in the morning. It makes Steve smile. Every time. 

Steve wants to lean in and kiss him. Lips desperate to taste just a bit of the sweet skin that’s mere inches from him. Warm and tucked comfortably in the throes of blankets cocooned around him. He doesn’t. He can’t. Steve can’t risk waking him. More than that, Steve doesn’t deserve to kiss him. His sweet husband. Who Steve loves more than the flower loves the sun. Drops of life that blossom beauty to the world. He doesn’t deserve it. Not tonight.

“I love you.” Steve whispers. A quiet breeze feathered along nighttime winds. “My Sweetheart.”

Just one touch. A light hand upon Bucky’s shoulder that makes him sigh contently without stirring. Perhaps he can feel Steve in his dreams. Steve hopes so, as he pushes the blankets away from himself. Invites the cold rush of air to wrap around him. Goosebumps rising quietly on his skin, judging him as they do. Steve knows it as he tiptoes through the room, takes one last look at his sleeping love, and escapes unnoticed through the opened door. 

His home doesn’t care for lies and secrets. Walls and floors and ceilings that revel in openness and honesty. There’s a brightness to it all. The happy windows letting in all the light. Sunshine that smiles upon them as the days go on. Still, Steve creeps down the stairs in the dead of night, in shadowed secrecy. Steps that scold him along the way. Carpet that has no desire to offer soft comfort as he walks across it.

The lock sounds incredibly loud when Steve slowly puts the key in the door. Checks over his shoulder just in case it may have woke the house with its yelling. There’s no one, of course. Just Steve in an empty hall in the basement of his home with his husband sleeping upstairs, blissfully unaware of Steve’s late night crimes. Sucking in a deep breath, Steve quickly gets the door open and sprints into his studio. 

He shuts the door before flicking the lights on, but when he does, they shine down on him harsh and mean. Steve knows why his home has turned against him tonight. With just one look at the work waiting for him. Ready to be taken so they can be put on display for tomorrow’s exhibit. They smile at him. Unashamed of their existence. 

Steve smiles back. He can’t help it. He likes them, too. Knows there’s nothing to be ashamed about what he does even if Society would have him think differently. That doesn’t mean he’s not ashamed. Because he is. He’s so ashamed. This exhibit was offered to Captain _after_ Steve accepted the House of Barnes’ engagement proposal. _After_ he agreed to be Bucky’s headship. To take care of him. What he’s doing, taking such a risk, it’s reckless, irresponsible. A blight on his good name. And to make matters worse, if he’s found out, it can mean a world of trouble for Bucky.

Which, at this point, is all Steve really cares about. Steve’s been taking this risk, diving into his passion for creating art, something out of nothing, for a few years now. It’s a risk he’s been willing to take. That doesn’t mean Bucky is. Doesn’t mean Bucky will be. Bucky knows what’s acceptable and what’s not. This is most definitely _not_ acceptable. 

For all Steve knows, Bucky’ll hate him if he finds out. Think the worst. What the rest of Society believes. That Steve’s mind doesn’t work right. It’s not appropriate to hold the positions he holds. Either in the Judiciary Bureau or Parliament at all, or even as headship. Possibly even as a husband. Maybe Bucky will want him tossed in an institution. Have him examined or just locked away so that he’s free of the artist’s mind. 

The thought makes Steve’s throat tight. He tries to remind himself that Bucky loves him. Has admitted so. Proven time and time over. Playful tunes and sought out touches. Smiles and hugs and recognizable laughter. Bucky loves him. 

This will be the last time. One last exhibit before Steve hides this part of his life away for good. Takes all that’s in this room and gets rid of it. The paints, the brushes, the canvases. It all goes. He’ll burn it if he has to. Purge himself of the sins confined to these walls. Never be tempted with them again. But… for now…

Steve sheds his pajamas. Trades them for battered and worn garments kept hidden under his workbench. Brown trousers dirtied and torn at the knees. A grey button down shirt a size too small and missing two buttons. There’s an ivy cap that just fits his head as well. Before placing on, Steve musses up his hair, not that it ever falls neatly without having someone coming to style it for him anyway.

All the pieces for the exhibit are prepared to be transported. Four months worth of paintings. There’s dozens of them. All themed around the abstracts he started when he first married Bucky. They’ve all evolved since that first one. Taken on lives of their own. 

Everything is all labeled in what order they should be placed and how Steve intends for them to be set up. Not to mention the note being sent along with meticulous instructions on how the display should look. This would be so much simpler if Steve could just go in and do it himself. Make sure everything is just done up properly. So there are no surprises when he gets there. Nothing will be out of place. The way it looks in Steve’s head. His final showcase. A work of his heart, sweat, and blood. Poured onto the canvases one last time to show the world just how he feels. 

He’s always a nervous wreck before one of his own openings. Tomorrow night’s going to be even worse with Bucky at his side. What will his husband think? He’s claimed to enjoy Captain’s work. Says he likes Steve’s sketches. Will he like the exhibit? See the concrete behind the abstract? Be able to read the story within the shapes and lines and colors? A story Steve hadn’t even realized he was telling until halfway through. 

Steve sighs as he slips the final one into the flat wooden crate he has. Glad he’s able to fit them all in one otherwise he’d have way too many to stuff in the wooden wheelbarrow waiting for him in the corner of the room. Once they’re all loaded and ready to go, Steve opens the door and pokes his head out of the studio, ignoring the hinges’ reprimands as they move. 

The coast is clear. Home still sleeping soundly, even if it watches Steve suspiciously as he pulls the wheelbarrow out of the studio, careful to lock the door behind him, and heads to the furnace. There are several brushes and thistles next to it. A bucket of ashes, too. Ready to be tossed out in tomorrow’s trash. Steve’s convenience of asking Truvie to have the furnace cleaned out this night. Just so he can stick his hands in the ashes. Smother the dust across his face and clothes before putting those brushes in the wheelbarrow and adding a bunch of filthy rags. Makes him look more the part. A chimney sweep called out on the cold winter’s night to fix a clog. A dirty chimney needing to be cleaned no matter how late the hour. 

Ready now, if not in mind at least in costume, Steve pushes the wheelbarrow down the hall and leaves through the servants’ entrance.

The night is calm and still. Not even a bored wind to stir up trouble. It makes light travel for Steve as he quietly makes his way down the empty streets. Then again, the stillness gives no way to hide. In plain sight, of course, but the easiest of times comes from uglier weather. When skies open overhead and most sleepless eyes stay indoors. 

His trip is a long one by foot. Almost an hour pushing the heavy wheelbarrow over thin patches of frozen sidewalk to the rendezvous point. Steve’s taken this path before. Middle of the night. Shadows draped around him in a cloak of darkness like that bit inside of him. Hiding all this from his loved ones. 

Never has he felt so alone on this journey. Not when he’s had art for company. Excitement and jitters that tickle his insides with anticipation. An exhibit. People coming to view his work. Pieces molded from his own desire and heart that have been praised and fussed over. By the very same people who would scorn him knowing it was he who created them. 

Bucky’s not with him. His husband is tucked warmly--Steve hopes--in bed, completely unaware of what he’s up to. There’s a pain pressing against Steve’s chest. A hole. Emptiness. An entire piece of his heart and soul that he can’t share with Bucky. For the first time ever, Steve wishes he didn’t do this. Never moved beyond pencils scraping against blank pages like an acceptable gentleman of Society. Who Steve’s supposed to be. Needs to be. For Bucky. 

When he reaches the bridge, Steve eases the wheelbarrow to the side of the road, just by the entrance for the walkway. Once he’s sure it’s secure, he takes a deep breath and backs away. Waits across the street, dripping with darkness until the flash of light strikes his attention. A cab coming over the bridge. Right on time. 

Steve watches as the cabbie slows his horse just as the carriage finishes crossing the bridge. The door swings open before the driver has the chance to climb down to offer his assistance and the museum curator slides out.

She straightens the hem of her petticoat and runs hands over the sides of her hair. Making herself presentable even though there’s no one around to judge her. For just one minute, Steve hates her. Jean Grey. A lady of High Society with the utmost privilege of being surrounded by works of art all day. Picking and choosing what’s worthy to show and displaying works for others to appreciate. A noble and prestigious position. Her mind thought to be of genius standing for her good taste and judgement.

Yet Steve cannot come out of his place in the shadows. Forever locked in this cage lest the world know his shame. That he’s the one responsible for the creations they gather around to enjoy. Steve and who knows how many countless others to be thought lesser than.

That’s not Lady Grey’s fault though, and Steve is well aware his anger is misplaced. He swallows it down as she approaches the wheelbarrow. They’ve been through this before. She knows he’s out there somewhere. Steve knows she’s going to take just _one_ painting out of the crate. Which she does. The final piece meant for the display.

“Wow,” she says softly. A gentle sound kindly carried by the chilled air. “This is… this exhibit is going to be your best one yet.”

Steve steps out from around the tree he’s been hiding by. Just a shadowed figure with no identity. No face. No name. No one.

“It’s the last one,” Steve murmurs. “Please, make it count.”

From the glow of the cab’s lantern, Steve can just make out the shock that ripples across her face. Lady Gray fumbles a bit with the painting she’s holding. Takes a few attempts to slide it back in the crate without creasing it.

“I… your last one?” She sounds genuinely put off by Steve’s announcement. “But… Captain, your work it’s…”

“Time to stop.”

Lady Grey opens her mouth twice and both times keeps the words to herself until she nods once and sighs. 

“If this was a different world…” She mutters. To herself, almost. Steve wonders if she feels sympathy for his predicament. Knowing he’s hiding, perhaps guessing his status. There's always been gossip and rumors about Captain. That the artist hides among the ladies and gentlemen of High Society. No one else would have such reason to work in secrecy. “You know how to get ahold of me if ever you change your mind. I do hope you do, sir.”

“Thank you.” Steve replies. “For all your help.”

With only an acknowledging nod of the head, Lady Grey snaps her fingers to grab the cabbie’s attention. She has the cabbie collect the crate and load it up for her. After another nod, she climbs back into the carriage to be taken away with Steve’s art. 

Steve waits until the carriage disappears across the bridge before fetching the wheelbarrow and heading home. 

The studio feels colder without the art in it. It’s always a strange feeling. Returning to the emptiness after weeks and months of preparation. After watching his work bloom from nothing and growing around the room, filling the corners and walls and floor. 

Normally, Steve feels a sense of accomplishment. Even a bit of a rush knowing that the art’s been taken somewhere it’ll be cared for and cherished while he can start all over again. That emotion doesn’t show tonight. Maybe it’s there. Somewhere. Hidden beneath layers of doubt and shame as he brings a clean rag over his face to clear away the soot. 

Shedding the old, tattered clothes he uses for his disguise, Steve quickly deposits them back to their hiding spot--he’ll get rid of them after the show--and puts his pajamas back on before making his way back up to his bedroom. Back to Bucky. His husband. Who likes his sketches and loves him and said yes to him.

The house is no less judgemental now that the deed is done. A few stairs creak under Steve’s feet as he walks up them. Letting everything in the home know that he’s back. All he wants is to be able to get back into bed with his Bucky. Curl up beside him and go on pretending he’s the headship he should be.

Only when he gets to their room, Steve finds it empty. Bucky’s not in bed. Just tangled and twisted blankets that don’t need a comfortable bed all to themselves. Cold washes through Steve. An icy bucket of water that dampens every wish and dream he could have ever had.

Did… did Bucky wake before Steve left? Had he followed him? Does he know? Has he gone to the police to report Steve’s crimes to Parliament? Maybe to an institution to get a doctor to come take him away?

The air chokes him. Wraps around Steve’s neck and lodges painfully in his throat. Until it breaks free from his lungs in the form of a horrified gasp when a pair of arms snake around his midriff. 

Steve spins around and away from them. Heart thudding violently against his chest. Two palms fly up in front of him. Calling a truce. A sign of innocence. Followed by a soft chuckle.

“I’m sorry, husband,” Bucky says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

For a breath or two, Steve can only stare at him as the realization of what just happened sinks through his body in a wave of utter relief. A hug. That’s all that was happening. Bucky was trying to hug him. 

“Where were you?” Steve asks. Glances back to the empty bed and then Bucky again. 

“Oh I…” Bucky shuffles his feet a bit. Reluctant to answer. “I was outside.”

Outside. For a cigarette. Now that his senses are calming, his heart slowing, his breaths returning to normal, Steve can smell the hint of cigarette coming from him. 

Of course that’s where he was. He sneaks off for a cigarette almost every night. Steve knows that. Bucky wasn’t off fetching the authorities. He just stepped outside for a moment. From the looks of it, he feels bad for being caught this night. He knows how Steve feels about his smoking even if they haven’t fully discussed him quitting. Steve’s already had to take so much from him. The least he can do is give him this one courtesy. 

“It’s alright,” Steve whispers. “I don’t mind.”

That response must completely floor Bucky. His eyes go wide with surprise and he rattles his head.

“Since when don’t you mind?” He chuckles. “Are you not going to lecture me about the poisons and toxins you say they shove in cigarettes?”

Steve tries to smile. Maybe it works. He’s not sure.

“No,” He murmurs. “Not tonight.”

Bucky steps closer now. “Are you alright, Steve?”

No. No he’s not alright. None of this is alright. It’s not fair, is what it is. A world that’s making him hide from his husband when Steve just wants to share all of himself. 

“Yes.” He replies. Pushes the answer out through swollen glands. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Are you coming back to bed then?” Bucky asks. “You’re finished working?”

Steve blinks at him. “Working?”

“That is what you were doing, isn’t it?” he assumes. “That’s what you do, when you can’t sleep. You sketch or go downstairs to work.”

Steve feels the rush of tears hit him hard. He blinks them away before letting them fall over. Bucky knows him so well. Because he’s right. When Steve finds himself in a restless night, he turns to pencils and paper and paint. When Bucky can’t sleep, he reads. Steve knows that.

“Steve?” Bucky’s soft hand touches the side of his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

How does Steve answer such a question? He can’t lie to this man. The husband who was so brave in confessing what happened in the beginning of their marriage. The man who worked so hard at making amends. Who looks at him now with such concern in his eyes. Right out on the surface. No longer hidden within bitterness and fear. 

“I love you,” he settles on. The most truthful statement he can say. The one thing he’s absolutely sure of. 

Bucky smiles at that and finally hugs him the way he tried to earlier. Pulls Steve in closer and nestles his cheek against Steve’s chest. In the still and quiet of the night, Steve can hear his arm making a soft whooshing sound. Almost as though it’s sighing contently as it wraps around his waist. 

“I love you, too, husband,” he says. Then squeezes a bit tighter. “Come back to bed. I’ll hold you.”

“You will?” Steve speaks into Bucky’s hair. Kisses the top of his head. “Really?”

“Of course. You’re tense,” he observes. “And if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, the very least you can do is allow me to help you relax.”

It takes all of Steve’s will not to fall into a heap at his husband’s feet. Gone are the days Steve could simply tell him that everything is fine and it’d be accepted. Bucky won’t push, respect for Steve as his headship, not to mention kindness as his husband, but neither will he be fooled. Or let Steve think he is. 

So Steve nods. Whispers, “Okay,” and let’s Bucky guide him back to their bed where he wraps him up in arms of flesh and metal. 

Steve tries to get comfortable. Snuggles up against him. Smelling the sweet familiar scents of Bucky, slightly tinged with a bit of cigarette smoke in his hair. But he can’t seem to settle down. 

Words sit on his tongue. Waiting to be said. Wanting to be heard. By welcoming ears. For now. Steve has no idea how Bucky would react to the news that he’s married to the artist known as Captain. Whose very exhibit they’re scheduled to visit tomorrow evening. 

But how Steve longs to tell him. Whisper what he’s done tonight and several times before. To show him the final piece of who he is. 

“It’s okay, husband,” Bucky whispers when Steve shudders. Pets a hand over his head and kisses the same spot. “Whatever’s on your mind, it’s going to be okay. I’m here. Sleep now. And I’ll still be here when you wake in the morning.”

He starts to hum then. _You Are My Sunshine_. Fingers seeking the proper keys along the back of Steve’s neck. And Steve drifts to sleep. Safe in his husband’s arms. 

~~

The evening is a blaze of glitz and glamour. Flashing camera lights and the lifeful buzz of reporters outside. Champagne bubbles and new fashion trends. A social event of class and taste. Invitation only. Limited to the finest people in High Society and for the first time, Bucky’s able to attend with the first wave of them. Perks of marrying up. 

Of course, there’s always that little perk of having fallen desperately in love with the headship and husband he’s married up to. Lord Steve Rogers. Mighty sharp in that soft grey suit. Jacket styled to keep open to reveal the entire length of his black tie. His husband dressed in complementing contrast to Bucky’s grey suit--material sheek and shiny, suit jacket closed and tie matching the same material. They’ve been asked several times throughout the evening who their stylist is and both Bucky and Steve have been happy to give Teresa more praises. 

Bucky’s been excited about tonight. Looking forward to it as a chance to set the record straight. There’s been a few more blurbs about he and Steve in the papers since that one the morning after New Years suggesting something caused them to change their ways and act more appropriate and traditional. 

Funnily enough, their night out of courting and proposals has yet to be mentioned. Bucky had been sure there’d be mention of it. Of Lord Rogers getting down on one knee, a headship shamefully lowering himself beneath his spouse, and _asking_ for Bucky’s hand in marriage. It all reeks of scandal and gossip worthy news. 

Perhaps after tonight someone will bring it up. When they all see that everything is fine between them. They’re as chatty as ever. Stolen kisses for the cameras. Laughs and teases and hugs. An affectionate arm around Bucky’s waist and a press of lips against his temple. A show for everyone there.

And Steve _is_ putting on a show. Something’s been bothering him since late last night, when he fell asleep tucked in Bucky’s arms. Bucky first thought was that Steve was upset about his mother’s failing health. But Sarah’s here with Joseph. Also putting on a show. Happy smiles and witty conversation with all those around them. But Bucky can tell she’s tired and Joseph’s worried. She’s lost a lot of weight since he’s been married to Steve. Her hair is thinning, too, which is probably why that leghorn straw hat is adorning her head tonight. 

No, it’s not Sarah that ails Steve. Or rather, not _only_ Sarah. There’s something more than that as he makes friendly conversation with Peggy and Gabe and Tony and Pepper. As he drinks not just that second and third, but fourth, and now fifth, glass of champagne. 

He’s laughing a lot. Steve is. Giggling at anything and everything. Those champagne bubbles floating right to his head. Whatever it was that kept him from resting peacefully last night drifts away now. Even if there’s still a _little_ something there. Tiny nerves anytime his eyes move to the doors that will let them all into Captain’s exhibit. 

Really, if Bucky didn’t know his husband so well, he’d really have no idea that Steve was anything more than excited about being here. A night out with friends. Surrounded by the finest people in Society. Brilliant minds, they say. Those that know the difference between fine art and rubbish. It’s really the way Steve tenses every now and then. As though he expects something to jump out at him. 

More than that, Bucky catches his eyes on _him_. Waiting, it seems, for Bucky to do something. But every time they _do_ catch eyes, whether Steve’s giving him a sideward glance or flat out staring at him, he lights up with a silly grin. As though Bucky looking back at him is the highlight of the evening. Nerves or not, Steve appears to be having a good time. 

Actually, it’s enjoyable to watch. Bucky’s never seen Steve act so… well, silly before. 

“You’ve never seen him let loose before, have you?” Tony asks. Arm swung over Bucky’s shoulder like the two have been best of friends for years. 

They’re in the gallery room. Huge and open with enough space to fit the entire invited guest list comfortably. Where performances usually take place--music and shows and readings. Marble floors and columns reaching high up to cathedral ceilings. Sculptures and old suits of armor on display. There’s a stringed quartet on the small platform stage in the corner. 

Steve’s over by a wooden sculpture with Pepper and Peggy and he’s laughing. Hard enough that he’s holding his sides. Over what, Bucky’s not sure, but both ladies are clearly holding in giggles of their own. Presumably at him. 

“No, I haven’t,” Bucky admits. “Is he always like this when he drinks?”

“Oh this is nothing,” Gabe tells him. Walking over with a drink of his own. “You should have seen him at our wedding.”

Tony barks a laugh. “Was that the night he danced _into_ Senator and Lady Stern?”

“He did not.” Bucky gasps. Glances back at his husband. Cheeks all red and eyes glassy. “Really?”

“Oh he did.” Gabe laughs. “Knocked the Senator clear off his feet. Probably the best part of the whole night. Well…” He takes a peek over at his wife. “ _Almost_ the best part of the night.”

Bucky holds in a smile. He knows that Steve loved Peggy. Probably still does. His heart is so big there’s no way the love for her has simply dried up just because time has lapsed. But the way Gabe looks at her now, Bucky’s eyes must shine that way when he looks at Steve. 

“Your husband over there.” Tony points with his ivory walking stick. One that he most definitely doesn’t have use for. “Is _quite_ the party man when he’s not being so uptight.”

“He… Steve’s not uptight.” Bucky mutters. “He’s…”

“Ah, I’m foolin’.” Tony jostles him a bit. “Y’know, kid”--funny how Tony, born and raised in the House of Stark, one of the oldest, most prestigious Houses in Society, sometimes speaks as though he didn’t have the privilege of the finest schooling available. “I don’t remember a time when your husband was so happy.”

Bucky takes another look over at Steve. No longer laughing, but listening to whatever Peggy’s saying now. Big smile on his face. 

“You mean being here?” he asks. “At an exhibit?”

“I don’t believe that’s what Tony means,” Gabe says. 

“Nope.” Tony shakes his head. “I’m speaking of you, my friend. You make him happy. It’s nice to see.”

That makes Bucky’s stomach clench. Hearing the way Tony says that. As though before being happy with him, Steve was unhappy. Steve’s never mentioned anything. It’s not as though Bucky’s ever thought to ask either. 

“Was… was there something wrong?”

“No.” Tony answers nonchalantly. Completely oblivious to the thoughts running through Bucky’s mind. “Nothing wrong. You just make him happy. That’s all.”

A smile pulls up on Bucky’s lips. Hearing such a thing makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. A sweet fire lit in the furthest depths of his heart and pumped throughout his body. 

“Perhaps it’s safe to say the same for you?” Gabe wonders. “That you two are a good match? Steve was worried he would be unable to give you a happy life.”

Ludicrous thinking, but of course, how could Steve have known? Bucky couldn’t have either. Never even permitted himself thoughts of having a sweet life with the man he’d be married off to. Society’s Best Catch. All his. 

Here tonight at the The Isle’s Museum of Art all smiles, and laughs and a bundle of hidden jitters. Bucky wonders if maybe it’s the sketches he keeps secret that has him worried. Given the rules and traditions Steve skirts around with Bucky himself, there’s no telling how people would react if they found out he sketched. 

It’s all Steve’s doing, this strange new way Bucky finds himself viewing the world. Without ever realizing how ignorant he’d been concerning so many traditions until they were upon him, Steve’s leniency has made him see how unfair and cruel a life rooted in that deep tradition can be. Things he never even considered before. 

Yet Bucky’s life is good. So, so good. Life with his Steve. His headship. His husband. Who cares more about Bucky, about _them_ , than tradition. Has _always_ cared more about them than tradition. 

When Bucky sees Steve reaching for some more champagne, he excuses himself from his company and heads over there. He reaches out for the champagne flute just as Steve is bringing it up to his lips.

“Why don’t you let me take that one, husband?” He murmurs. Must surprise Steve in his approach since he starts enough that he spills a bit of his drink when Bucky tries to take it from him. 

Steve giggles a little. “Oops. My apologies, my Sweetheart.” He hands over the glass anyway. “I’m not making a spectacle, am I?”

“No.” Bucky chuckles. And gulps the entire thing in one drink. “But a few more of these and you just might.”

“Ah, well then it’s must be a good thing that I have you as my savior, isn’t it?”

“I would hardly consider me your savior, Steve.” Bucky says. Smiling. Pleased with the thought nonetheless. “I believe you’ve done perfectly well without me.”

Steve hums a bit before wrapping arms around Bucky’s waist to pull him closer. He sways them slightly, moving them a little further from Peggy and Pepper, who’ve been joined by their husbands. Almost in rhythm to the soft, quiet music that whispers sweet tunes through the room. 

“Are you doubting your headship, sir?” 

He slips a hand at the side of Bucky’s face. People around them and all. Though, everyone around them seems to fade away. Even though they most certainly don’t. Unfortunately. 

Bucky whimpers, “ _Steve_ …” He folds his mouth. “You’re not being fair.”

“Oh am I not fair now?” He chuckles. “It may seem I have had more liquor, but you’re the drunk one. And I’m going to kiss you, Bucky.”

People are watching. Bucky’s sure of it though he has no power of will to even tear his eyes away from the sunshine and champagne scents in front of him. Steve is definitely right. No matter the unequal amount of drinking done tonight, it’s Bucky feeling light headed and far away in this moment. All by a simple touch. 

“People are watching, husband.” He whispers. Might get his voice loud enough to be heard.

“Then let them see.”

Steve cups his hands around Bucky’s face. Caring not for the people of Society around them nor the expectations demanded of him, he presses his lips to Bucky’s. Sweet and soft, yet demanding. A kiss calling for Bucky to kiss him back. So Bucky does. Listens to his headship and melts into Steve’s mouth. 

He’s not sure when he brought his arms around Steve’s neck, but when Steve ends their kiss, probably a mere moment or two after starting, that’s where they are. Steve touches his brow to Bucky’s and pecks his nose.

“Let’s leave, Bucky,” He says. Close to childish pleading. “I doubt anyone would miss us.”

“I beg to differ,” Bucky laughs. “Friends and family might take note of our sudden departure. Besides, don’t you want to see the exhibit? We came all this way.”

“Oh…” Steve takes a glimpse at the doors still shut up tight. Not yet ready to let anyone in to see what waits behind them. “I… well I am interested in what you think of it.”

“What _I_ think of it?” He places both hands on Steve’s chest. “Husband, aren’t you even a _bit_ curious about the exhibit?” 

“Not really,” Blue eyes go wide as though words have just slipped off his tongue. “I mean… oh hell, this is much harder than I thought it’d be.”

“What is?”

Instead of answering that, Steve gathers both Bucky’s hands in his and kisses each finger. 

“If you refuse to run away with me,” Steve says as he swipes a fresh glass of champagne from the tray of the waitress walking by and hands it to Bucky, “Then at least do me the courtesy of catching up.”

Discarding the empty glass in his hand, Bucky takes the fresh drink from his husband and sips from it. Only to have Steve stick his hand at the bottom and tilt it upward so that he can’t _stop_ drinking it. Bucky gags a bit. Steve’s laughs as a little champagne trickles out of the corners of Bucky’s mouth.

“Steve!” He exclaims once he’s free of the glass. Laughs and wipes his mouth clean. 

“Look at you.” Steve brushes his thumb along his chin to clean up what’s left of that moisture there. “Making such a mess.”

Bucky scoffs. Rolls his eyes and drinks a bit more. This time dodging Steve when he tries the same trick again.

“What has gotten into you tonight, husband?”

Steve laughs again and runs the back of his fingers along Bucky’s jawline. He leans in and presses a light kiss to his lips. Bucky can taste the drinks mixing together.

“Nothing, baby.” He becomes very serious. Eyes glistening with thoughts that he’s never voiced. “I just want you to know that no matter what happens tonight, I love you, okay?”

“Steve…” Bucky steps up close. Touches Steve’s chin. “What’s going to happen? And I love you. So much.”

Steve smiles at him. “I don’t know.” He glances at the last of the drink still sitting in the bottom of Bucky’s glass. “But how often do you think I’ll be encouraging this?”

Bucky chuckles and gulps the rest of the champagne.

Three drinks later and the world shimmers around Bucky. Nothing like his wedding night. No nothing like that. When champagne was meant to obliterate everything around him and destroy whatever feelings were left inside. 

Tonight there’s simply streaming lights and happy wishes. His husband at his side and his husband’s friends--maybe even _his_ friends--there as good company. The stringed quartet playing _just_ loud enough that a few couples have broken off to dance. Murmured discussions that hang gracefully in the air. Bucky and Steve carefully avoid any unwanted company as the rest of the opening ceremony bleeds away.

Most of which is hard to pay attention to. The museum curator has come out to say a few words as she prepares to open the doors. Everyone gathers in front of the podium she’s at to listen while Bucky lets Steve guide him towards the back. They linger there. Away from the crowd. A world of their own.

All the champagne swimming through his head, his _and_ Steve’s, makes it more fun to giggle and play with one another in the background. 

Steve’s been tickling him. Fingers seeking sensitive skin and bringing inner laughs to the surface no matter how hard Bucky tries to keep them in. People turn to see what the fuss is about. Curious and obviously irritated. Each time, every time, eyes focus on them, Steve ceases his infernal tickling and wraps arms around him. Acts as though it’s only Bucky making all the racket. 

“You’re having fun,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear. Hands at Bucky’s waist and tugging him closer. “Admit it.”

“I will do no such thing.” Bucky huffs. “You are incredibly mean tonight, husband.”

“Yes.” Steve agrees. “But you’re secretly enjoying it.”

He does have him on that. Because every time Steve even smiles, bewitching as the artwork around them, Bucky’s insides are set ablaze. His mouth curves up in a clumsy smile.

“You’re too much, Steve.”

His husband chuckles softly behind the folds of his ear. Kisses the skin there and makes Bucky giggle.

“It’s not too late,” Steve murmurs. “We can still sneak away.”

They could. It wouldn’t be that crazy of a notion. Just the two of them slipping away unseen. To be by themselves for the rest of the evening. They are still newlyweds, after all. It wouldn’t be that farfetched. 

“Mm,” Bucky shakes his head. “I told you. I like Captain’s work.” He glances back at him. See a smirk turn upon his mouth. “I’d like to see this. If that’s alright.”

Steve kisses his cheek. “Okay.” He whispers. “You’ll be honest. Tell me what you really think?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh.” Steve locks him in a full embrace. Arms pinning Bucky’s to his sides. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m looking for--” Bucky gasps and holds in a shriek when Steve digs his fingers into his ribs again. “ _Steve_!”

Chin resting on his shoulder, Steve chuckles and nuzzles into Bucky’s neck. Makes Bucky laugh, calling attention to them _again_. A stuffy looking couple peers over their shoulders to glare at them for the disturbance. Steve mutters an apology while Bucky simply takes to sticking his tongue out at them when they face forward again.

“Oh that was such a lovely example of maturity.” 

“Yeah well,” Bucky fumbles with an excuse for such behavior. There is none, even if Steve’s still just teasing him. Or maybe… 

Perhaps there is a reason for Bucky acting in such a way. Silly and playful. Relaxed. 

Bucky’s heart feels something new. Again. So many changes in so little time. Bucky, standing there in Steve’s arms, in a place for art and reflection, forgets to breathe. He hadn’t meant to fall so in love with his husband. He didn’t want to fall in love with him at all. A mourning, bitter heart reluctant to let him feel anything but the darkness inside. Until warmth and sunshine came to fill it. A pair of bright eyes and happy hands. Ocean smiles and heartfelt laughs.

 _You have_. His heart gently reminds him. _And it’s good_.

It is. Bucky agrees. With everything he as. _So good_.

“I’m myself, you know.” Bucky whispers. “With you. Husband. I feel like me again.”

The arms around him tighten. Hugging, it would seem, as though Steve never means to let him go. 

“Bucky…” Steve breathes. Lips seeking that treasured spot on his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky means to say it back. Return the sentiment he wasted far too long holding in out of fear. Only he hasn’t the chance. Lady Gray grabs his attention when she asks for the doors to be opened. 

They push towards them, opening up with a quiet squeak of invitation and the crowd pulses to life. Everyone heads for the room. Ready to see what lies beyond the doors. Colors and paints and lines and shapes. Designs that came from somewhere that Bucky’s mind--brought up right and proper--can just never understand.

He goes to take a step forward only to be held back. Steve squeezing arms again. Tight and almost protective. As though needing to keep him safe from some unforeseeable danger. A nightmare Bucky’s unaware of.

“Husband?”

“Just…” His voice, one word alone, sounds far away. Off in a place Bucky hasn’t gotten to yet. “Wait.”

That right there, that word leaving Steve like a snap of a whip, falls onto Bucky with weight and meaning. His headship speaking. Steve’s telling him to wait. Letting the rest of the room disappear through the doors while they stay behind. 

Bucky doesn’t question the order though questions do run through his mind. So many. He wants to know what Steve’s thinking. Why he wants them to wait. But then, the reasons matter not. Steve will never hurt him in any way, and Steve desires them to straggle behind. Be the lasts ones in, and Bucky will listen. Wrapped up safe. Here, in Steve’s embrace. The exhibit will be there whenever Steve decides takes them in.

“I love you.” Bucky murmurs. Head nestled back against Steve’s chest while his hands happily secure the arms around him. 

Steve’s chest vibrates when he hums. The back of Bucky’s neck tingles when lips find it. Press gently.

“Okay.” He whispers. “Lets go. And I love you, too.”

The arms swathed around him make a foolish attempt to unravel. Bucky reacts so quickly that his left arm swooshes as it keeps up with his movements. Making sure Steve does nothing as ridiculous as letting him go. Steve snickers and complies. Walks with him just like that. 

Until they get into the room and Bucky gasps at the exhibit as soon as his eyes are upon it. He just can’t help it. The room is damn near silent. Everyone probably just as stunned as he is. 

All the lighting in this room has been changed to fit the paintings themselves. Blue paint over oblong bulbs on one side. Orange on the other. Bright spotlights over the final piece. Fire and ice. That’s the pieces. Fire and ice growing into beautiful forms. Not all distinguishable, but forms nonetheless. One side fire. The other ice. Life in each and every painting. Two straight lines leading to the final centerpiece. 

“Wow…” Bucky whispers. “Do you see this?”

“Yes.” Steve murmurs. “I do.”

Bucky glances over his shoulder to see if Steve is sparked by the ice side or the fire side. Instead he finds his husband’s gaze fixed on him. 

“Steve,” Bucky chuckles. “Are you even looking at the art?”

“I am.” he answers. “Trust me.”

Cheeks warming with a blush, Bucky shakes his head and steps closer to the first canvas. Ice. A tree, it looks like. Twisted and beautiful just the same. Lights reflecting through prisms that aren’t real. A fantasy that shines truth. 

Bucky reaches out to touch it. Fingers longing to trace the delicate contours of the freezing branches on display. Wonders if they’re cold. They look as though they should be. He pulls back just before he’d graze it.

“Go on.” Steve whispers. “It’s alright.”

He knows it’s not. Not really anyway. This is not Bucky’s to touch. Not Steve’s either. But given permission by his headship, and lost in sheer wonder and amazement, Bucky’s fingers move forward. Touch. Feels the smooth strokes of the paint under his skin. 

“It’s sad.” Bucky says. “This one is.”

“The painting?”

“Whoever painted it. Captain. Or whoever Captain painted about.”

There are hands on his shoulders. Steve’s. Big and warm. But he says nothing. Doesn’t give his thoughts on the paintings. Just listens to Bucky and follows when he moves to the adjacent fire painting. Also a tree. Also sad. 

As Bucky makes his way down the aisle, looking from ice to fire, he notices a distinct pattern. What happens in fire, happens in ice. All forms. All emotions. From sad to angry. From angry, to chaos. From chaos, to calm. From calm, to peaceful. From peaceful, to happy. From happy, to…

“Eh, I don’t get it.”

Pepper scoffs. “Of course you don’t, Tony. You lack any taste one needs to understand.”

They’re all standing in front of the final piece. Bucky’s favorite. He and Steve. Peggy, Gabe, Pepper and Tony. More champagne for them all. Sarah and Joseph were with them, but excused themselves just a little while ago. As soon as they finished viewing. 

“Now that is just unfair.” Tony comments. “I’m the one who collected the piece in the front hall, aren’t I?” Pepper smiles, but doesn’t counter what Tony’s said. “And anyway I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“Then you like it, Tony?” Peggy asks. “The exhibit?”

“Sure, sure.” He circles his finger in the air. Likely trying to point to all the paintings. “Just look at all this. Lovely. Stunning really. I just thought artists are supposed to, I don’t know, _say_ something with their art. Isn’t that, I don’t know, what they’re always claiming?”

“That’s what they say.” Gabe states. “It’s how they try to justify what they do.”

“It makes sense.” Pepper adds. “Just because it’s not said with words doesn’t mean nothing’s being said.”

“They’re beautiful.” Peggy remarks. Arm twined with Gabe’s as she gazes at the centerpiece. Just like Bucky does. “Like stepping into a dream.”

There’s something so familiar about everything here. Bucky can feel it. Feel the heart beating through the paint. He wants to rest his palm on it. Maybe… maybe he can _know_ then, understand just _why_ , he feels this. Like a piece of him is somehow embedded here. In this room. In all this beauty that isn’t him. 

“Still don’t get it though.” Tony mumbles.

“It’s love.” Bucky breathes. Can’t keep from reaching out and touching like Steve said he could. 

The last piece. One final touch. Fire and ice. Twirling together in an explosion of absolute harmony and peace. 

Bucky’s heart pounds while looking at it. He feels so close to it. To them all. 

“Love?” Tony questions. Doubt in his voice. “How do you figure that?”

“Well…” Bucky lets his hand pull away from the painting. The connection still just as strong. He points to the rest of them. “Just look. They’re trying to be together. So different, but two halves of the same whole,” He gestures back to the last one. “And they figure out it. Fall in love despite all the odds.”

Peggy chuckles softly. “That’s lovely, Bucky. Do you really see that?”

“Don’t you?” He asks. “You don’t… _feel_ it?”

“I admit, I saw the beauty of it all.” She replies, and steps up closer again. “But I hadn’t considered love to be the story. Now…” Peggy glances back at the rest of the paintings again. Even moves back so that she can view them better. “I believe the good Lord Barnes is absolutely right. Just look,” She takes Gabe by the hand and leads him back to the beginning. They all follow. “See here…”

“It starts off sad.” Pepper says. “Right? That’s what’s happening here.”

“Right,” Bucky agrees. “See here? There’re tears. Without the tears.”

“That’s what I see.” Peggy nods and then points out the next group of paintings. “Then here…”

“They become angry.” Gabe decides. “You can tell by the color change.” He smiles as he realizes this. Turning to Bucky as though Bucky’s become the end all of these decisions. “They’re darker now.”

“Yes. Then the next ones,” Bucky moves them along, happy to provide his thoughts on all this. On these works of art that feel so personal. So right. Home. “There’s so much happening in them. It’s hard to make heads or tails of what’s going on.”

“It starts to calm down after that.” Pepper points out. Talking now, specifically, to Tony. “See, Tony…”

“Yeah,” He nod and snickers. “Leave it to Steve’s husband to notice such a thing as love.”

“Well,” Peggy puts a hand on Steve’s arm. Steve, who’s been very quiet the whole time. “Steve _has_ always been quite the romantic.”

“Do you see it, husband?” Bucky asks as he once again runs eyes over the exhibit. “Or do you think I’m…”

The words happen to fall short. Clogging his throat when he peers back at Steve. His husband has tears in his eyes. Moisture locked within them so ready to leak out. 

“Steve?” Bucky moves close to him, the others dispersing. Sensing the need for them to be alone. “Are you alright?”

“That’s what you see?” Steve asks. “You see the love? Really?”

“I… is that bad?”

“No.” A grin, sad almost, pulls up on his mouth. “Not at all. Bucky, I… oh, baby, I love you so much.” 

His arms are suddenly around him, pulling Bucky in so close to his chest it’s actually hard to breathe for a moment. Steve’s sudden hug surprises Bucky so much he doesn’t even think to hug him back. His arms simply hang at his sides, head pressed into the crease of Steve’s shoulder. 

Bucky finds himself chuckling. Not sure what else to do.

“I love you, too, husband.” Brain reconnecting to the rest of his body, he finally thinks to put his arms around Steve’s waist. Nestles into the sweetness that’s wrapped him up in tender care. “Does that mean you feel it too?”

“Feel it…” Steve whispers. “See it. Yes. In all of it.”

“It’s strange though.” Bucky murmurs. Can’t quite wrangle himself out of Steve’s arms, even if his attempts aren’t all that heartfelt. 

“What is?”

“It feels like I _know_ this.” Now when Bucky shimmies a bit, Steve allows him to free himself. Bucky moves to the final piece again. Hates that there are other people here. “There’s just something so… so… _right_ about it all. As though the artist somehow saw life through my eyes.” Bucky sighs. Rattles his head and turns back to Steve. “I know how ridiculous that sounds. The world doesn’t revolve around me.”

“It might.” Steve whispers. Brushes the back of his knuckles along Bucky’s jawline. “For someone.”

Bucky folds a smile in. Unsure if he’ll _ever_ get used to the sweet compliments and tiny praises his husband sneaks in whenever he can. 

He would answer. Even wants to answer. Only he misses the chance. Since someone else begins talking over everyone there. 

“Such rubbish. All this. Utter trash.”

Stomach twisting, Bucky can feel the knots pull tight. The art in the room giving a collective shudder at the harsh criticism. Bucky knows that voice. And knows Brock is drunk.

He turns to face him, staying close to Steve as he does. Behind him, his husband is tense. Bucky clasps a hand around Steve’s wrist.

“Just look at this nonsense.” Brock sways a bit as he approaches the centerpiece. “They should all be locked away. Every last one of them.”

“Who should be, Lord Rumlow?”

And that would be Tony. Stepping forward with a twirl of his useless walking stick. There’s a smirk curled up on the corners of his lips. He peers at Brock over the top of his yellow-tinted spectacles. 

“Artists, Lord Stark.” Brock mutters. Lips smacking and stuffing hands in the pockets of his suit’s jacket. “And the like, of course. Get them out of here. No need to have them filling our world with such garbage.”

“Is it safe to say you don’t care for it then?” Tony wonders. Tilts his head as though he needs to have it explained to him. “For the story? The beauty?”

“Beauty?” Brock barks a laugh. “Lord Stark, there is no beauty to be had here. This is nothing more than the warped fabrications of a sick mind.”

There are nods and whispers of agreement. People who are here, gossiping and enjoying their evening, yet would happily rid themselves of those who created the night for them.

Bucky can hear Steve’s quick intake of breath. Harsh and slightly pained. That hand’s still on his husband’s arm. He squeezes a bit tighter. Comfort and presence. Bucky’ll do what he needs to in order to make Steve feel safe. Being around the art makes him nervous. Brock isn’t helping. 

“Ah!” Tony spins around. Full circle on one foot. His shoe singing out for everyone to hear. “Then I wonder, _sir_ , what do you make of all of us?” He gestures to Peggy and Gabe. Back to his wife. Over at Bucky and Steve. To others Bucky doesn’t know. “Those of us who enjoy the sights you claim to be nothing more than rubbish? Shall we be locked away as well?”

“Perhaps,” he answers. Smug and just slightly agitated. Brock takes one step towards Tony. Tony takes one step towards him. “This world, I’m sure, could stand to use a few less minds as liberal as yours.” 

“Well then, I suppose it stands to reason that this world, conversely, could use a few less minds as conservative as,” Tony points his walking stick at him. Brings it close enough to Brock’s chest it practically warns him to watch out, “ _yours_.” 

“Tony.” Pepper states. A warning. Not a reprimand. Tony’s treading dangerously close to starting a fight and his headship can see that. “Come on.”

Tony’s tongue snakes along his lower lip right before he lowers his walking stick. He cracks his neck and flicks his eyebrows once before swirling around to join Pepper. 

“Maybe it’s just safe to say, Lord Rumlow,” Peggy announces with a smooth flip of her hair, “that our tastes differ.” Bucky assumes that’s the end of her statement. Until she goes on to say, “In that we have some.”

Brock’s face goes hard. Darkens with such anger Bucky can feel the heat from where he stands. 

“Perhaps you’re right, madam,” He mutters through clenched teeth. Then turns his gaze right at Bucky. “Maybe I _don’t_ have taste.”

Every muscle in his body tightens. Heat gnaws at his bones and heart as Brock’s words slither into Bucky’s insides. Words meant for him. For Steve. 

Bucky swallows every response down. All the things that come to mind, the words that could be said, he ignores them all. Simply rolls his eyes. Showy and overdrawn. He does, after all, take great pleasure in seeing the look on Brock’s face when he does so.

Steve though, Steve moves. Takes just a half-step towards the man hurling insults left and right. The last one directed at Bucky. But Brock’s had too much to drink. Steve’s had just a few shy of too much. The two not the best of breeds. 

“Wait, wait.” Bucky’s hand is on Steve’s chest before he can really move forward. He quickly faces him. Places his left hand at the side of Steve’s face to make him look away from Brock. “Why don’t we call it an evening, husband? After all, I can’t be sure which is better. That we have taste and he doesn’t. Or we have _class_ and he doesn’t.”

There’s something of a scuffle behind them. Bucky can hear it. The exchange of words between Brock, Tony and Gabe. Even Peggy it would seem throws her two cents in. Letting her thoughts on the matter well known while Pepper has swooped in front of Bucky and Steve. Clearing a path for them.

“Come on, Steve.” Bucky whispers. Adds a second hand to the other side of Steve’s face. “Come home with me. Please?”

Steve’s eyes glide away from whatever’s happening over there and refocus on Bucky. 

A blink. A heartbeat. A breath. 

And a smile breaks through the glower. Sun streaking across an endless night. 

Steve’s hand finds that favorite spot. Touches soft and gentle. Enough that Bucky’s eyes shut.

“Home.” Steve repeats the word. Holds it with hope and love. “Let’s go, Bucky. Let’s go home.”

He loops their arms, knotting them with an added hand over Bucky’s as he leads them to the exit. Brock shouts at them the entire time. Insists how improper, indecent Steve is as headship. 

_Obeying your spouse. You’re a disgrace. Where would this world be without the traditions you spit in the face of?_

All of it falls silent on their ears. Bucky curls his arm tighter around Steve’s when they push the doors open and are met with an onslaught of flashing lights and erupting questions. 

They wave of course. It’s what’s expected of them. They wave and they smile and Bucky even tosses a kiss for a camera or two. But everything passes by in slow motion. The world a blur of lines and fuzzy colors and Bucky leaves them all behind with his husband. 

Fire. Ice.

Two opposites meant to be. If they can make it work, then so can Steve and Bucky. Their own way. A world theirs for the taking. 

“How did you do that?” Steve asks when they’re in the motorcar. 

“What?” Bucky blinks. Confused by the question. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did.” He says. Brings fingers to Bucky’s chin and coaxes his face so that he can kiss him. “You have no idea how much you did. Thank you.”

There’s so much hidden in the deep corners of Steve’s eyes. Things Bucky’s never noticed before. Something he felt tonight. A fire that needs to be set free.

For one fleeting moment Bucky wonders…

Steve. All wrapped up in paint and art. Bringing to life the emotions Bucky feels so close to, so close through his husband. Is it possible? Is that the fire hidden there?

Bucky peers at his husband. Steve smiles at him. So full of love and wonder. As though Bucky being with him here is some honor.  
No. No, Steve can’t be Captain. He just… can’t be.

***

By the time they’re getting in, Steve is grumbling about Brock. The talk started in the motorcar on the way home and had yet to cease. It’s the champagne talking. Mostly. Some has to do with all the tension Brock’s caused. But his eyes are a bit heavy and his lips smack together at the end of every few sentences. The drinks encouraging him along more and more. 

“He shouldn’t have said that about you.” He mutters in the entryway. “No taste. I’ll show him no taste.” Steve grunts to himself. Mumbles a little incoherently. Bucky chuckles. His husband is just standing there still all bundled up in his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. “Jealous. That’s what he is. Just jealous.”

“Jealous, husband?” Bucky remarks as he hangs his own coat up on the coat rack. His hat joining next. “Of what?”

Steve turns around to look at him. Expression bemused. Like he quite possibly hasn’t understood the question. 

“I should say it’s obvious.” He answers. “I have what he wants. And he can’t have you.”

Bucky smiles and takes Steve’s hat off for him. Steve watches as though he hadn’t realized it was still sitting on top of his head. Going on to help him out of his coat and scarf, Bucky kisses his cheek.

“That’s right.” He agrees. Confirms. Starts rolling the gloves off his hands next. “I’m all yours.” He lowers himself down to his knees and can feel Steve’s eyes on him as he undoes the laces of his shoes. “Lift up.” Bucky instructs for each foot so he can slip the shoe off when Steve does. 

A hand rests at the back of his head. He glances up at his husband. Finds star studded eyes clear and intent. The night beats with joy as the room watches contently. Happy with the company. Steve’s hand drifts to the side of his face. Bucky closes his eyes and kisses his husband’s fingers. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Come here, you.”

He rocks back on his heels to stand again. Steve’s hand runs from his head down to his waist. Where it stays. Firm and possessive. Making him Steve’s. 

“Kiss me, Bucky.” Steve orders.

Leaves no room to be misconstrued as anything but words as his headship. Yet it’s still his husband. If ever there came a time Bucky couldn’t kiss him, whatever the reason, however small and insignificant, Steve would never force it. He’ll never hurt him. Not on purpose anyway. 

Bucky’s lips seek out those longing for his. That fire he saw in Steve’s eyes, those flames hidden beneath the surface, they spark to life. Race through Bucky’s whole body. Sink deep within him as Steve’s hands grab him closer. Bodies pressed together and Bucky backed up against the wall. 

Teeth nip at Bucky’s bottom lip, making him gasp out a quiet whine. Champagne tasted kisses continue as Steve’s long, nimble fingers make easy work of undoing Bucky’s pants. 

Bucky’s chest feels so full. So, so full. Rising and falling hard and heavy with every breath he takes. The world disappears fast and Bucky does nothing to try to keep it there. Only Steve matters. Steve’ll keep him safe. Steve loves him. Steve wants him. Steve. Steve. Steve…

“Wait, wait…” Steve stops and Bucky crashes. Catches his breath in a painful lump that chokes him. “Wait…”

“What?” Bucky tries to catch up with his body. Move back to it. Feel again. Everything is spinning around so fast. 

“I can’t do this.” He starts to move away. “I’m so sorry.”

“Steve!” Panic clings to the name as it bursts from his lungs. “Don’t leave…”

“Baby, no, I’m not…” He stays. Makes no further attempt to move at all. In fact, he puts hands back on him. “I’m sorry. Fuck…” That brings Bucky further back to him. Steve doesn’t swear all that often. The sound of it pulls heavy on his heart. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong, husband?”

Tears glitter in Steve’s eyes. Not overflowing but teetering. Right there at the very edge. 

“I want you to know me, Bucky.”

“Steve…” Bucky, back now, himself again and here with Steve, his husband needing something from him even if he’s unsure what at the moment, puts arms around Steve’s neck. “I know you. I do know you.”

The words meant to soothe and comfort do the very opposite. Steve’s face crumples in pain. As though Bucky’s reached out and struck him. Those tears finally sneak out. One by one. Trailing down pale skin and leaving streaks behind. 

“You don’t, Bucky. You don’t know me. And I’m sorry.” 

He swallows hard and buries his face between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. Bucky cradles his head. Runs fingers through untamed hair. 

“I don’t understand.”

The first answer to that is a broken whimper. Steve shudders in his arms. Like last night, when he needed to be held.

“Bucky…” Steve turns his head and Bucky peers down at him. “I need to show you something.”

“Okay?”

He lifts up. Makes a little pleading sounds in the back of his throat. Bucky can’t imagine why.

“Please don’t hate me, Bucky.”

“You’re my husband,” Bucky responds. Automatic. How could Steve ever fear such a thing? “I could never hate you.”

Steve doesn’t quite answer that. He shrugs one shoulder. Lifts one side of his mouth. Gestures of acceptance. He’s heard Bucky’s answer. Believing it is another matter. 

His husband goes downstairs. Takes Bucky to his office. Tense and shaky at the same time. Steve stops in front of the door and pulls out a key. He tries to get it in the lock. But his hands tremble so much that he can’t seem to figure out how to do it. The key scrapes against the door a few times. Makes a horrible, frightened sounds. 

Bucky puts both his hands over Steve’s. The action seems to shock his husband. Steve snaps his gaze to him. Eyes saucer wide and jaw falling slightly as though he means to speak. Nothing comes out. No words. Just that same worry that shakes through him. 

“You don’t have to do this, Steve.” Bucky assures him. Whatever’s behind this door cannot be worth causing his husband any pain. “It’s okay.”

A grin curls at the corner of Steve’s mouth. Appreciative of the offer, but he shakes his head. 

“I do though.” Steve shakes his head again, his hand still tucked securely under Bucky’s. “You need to see.”

Steve turns back to the door. This time makes easy work of fitting the key into the lock. Another shiver runs through him and he pushes the door open.

Darkness greets them. Shadows dancing along the floor and trickling away in the face of the hallway lights. Steve steps inside. Flicks the light switch. 

And Bucky understands.

Heart falling to his feet, he steps just over the threshold. Into a room so forbidden and taboo he can _feel_ the tension in it. The unwelcome and unease wraps around his throat. Makes it hard to breathe. 

It’s too hot in here. Where paint and pencils and canvases stare at him. Waiting.

Breaths backing up on him, Bucky tries to look at Steve. The man he thought he knew. But he’s all fuzzy. Just a blurry image all out of focus.

 _Please._ He begs his eyes. _Where is Steve?_

 _In front of you._ They say. _Just look._

No. No that’s not Steve. Because Steve wouldn’t be so foolish. He wouldn’t… couldn’t…

But he has. He does. The paintings still in the room whisper to him. Show him what he was missing tonight. _Why_ he felt that connection. He already knew. Somewhere deep inside. He was right, earlier. That moment he dismissed. Because it made no sense. Bucky was in those pieces. A piece of him etched forever and now immortal for the world to see. He felt it then. The world through Steve. 

“You’re…” Bucky can barely feel his voice as it rises out of his throat. “You _are_ Captain, aren’t you?” 

There’s a hitch of breath and Steve doesn’t look at him when he answers, “Yes.”

The breath is stolen from Bucky next. Ripped from his lungs with such fierceness it hurts. The floor is unkind under his feet. Hard and impatient. In or out, it says. 

“Okay.” Bucky breathes. Maybe. Barely a noise beyond the shape of a word. “I just… okay…”

“Bucky…”

A shaky hand reaches for him. Bucky backs away. Out of the room so wrong and shameful. Full of secrets and right beneath him this whole time. Where Steve hid the last piece of himself. 

“Bucky…” Steve says again. Sounds pained. Like it hurts to talk. “Please…”

“I just,” His voice cracks. “A minute. Give me…”

Steve might call out for him again. Might ask him to wait. To stop. Pleading and broken. Bucky wants to stay. He does. He really, truly does. Stay and offer the comfort and love that his husband so desperately needs. But he needs a spare moment. A place where he’s not Steve’s husband. Where Steve isn’t his headship. A place to just think. 

Thoughts so frazzled, so encompassed in his own confusion and fear, Bucky doesn’t realize he’s even gotten himself anywhere until he crashes into a desk. He glances down at the culprit. Irritated at its presence and its nerve to interrupt him in such a moment. 

All he wants is one place in time, a twist and turn, just to be alone with his thoughts. Somewhere Steve isn’t. So he can make sense of this. 

It only takes one beat of his heart to realize that no such place exists. Not anymore. His life is Steve now. All of it. He’s been consumed. Body, mind, heart, soul. Everything is Steve. 

And Steve is… Steve is Captain. An artist. Living a life underground and secret. Away from the judgemental and prying eyes of Society. 

Bucky’s never been more in love. 

With the man who creates such wonder and beauty. Brings life to worlds Bucky never dreamed possible. No wonder Steve marvels at the mundane and ordinary. Sees light where others only see dark. Can find beauty in the ugliest of forms. He’s different. His mind. It’s not broken, not like Bucky’s been taught to think--to _believe_. Or maybe it’s just Steve. The procedure done to him so long ago fixing ailments of the brain? 

Oh Bucky doesn’t know, he doesn’t _know_.

And he’s never been more terrified. 

They’ll take him. That’s what’ll happen if someone finds out. And with so many people so invested in their lives, in every little thing that they do--don’t do, might do, could do--how could Steve be so foolish? _So foolish?_

He’ll be locked away. Thrown in some pit of a room. Stone and cold with eyes watching, examining. Poking and prodding and trying to fix what doesn’t need to be fixed. Even if there is something wrong with Steve’s brain--and Bucky’s not so sure that there is--he doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that, but especially not Steve. 

Sunshine isn’t meant to be locked away. It’s meant to be out and shine and spread over everything and anything. Bringing warmth and life to all that it touches. 

Throat dry and heart pounding, Bucky stares out at the room he’s in. The library. Where he’s joined Steve so many times. Spent so many evenings just curled up in his arms reading to him or late afternoons simply there while Steve finished his work. The room is shaking now. Everything is vibrating. 

Bucky can’t figure out why. Why is everything moving like that? Why won’t it stop? It needs to stop. Stop that infernal shaking. 

A tear falls on the back of his hand and Bucky realizes he’s crying. He glances down at that hand. Sees what he didn’t feel. The room’s not shaking. He is. 

“Calm down,” He whispers. “Steve is… he’s…”

He’s going to be fine. No one will find out. They can’t. They just can’t. No one is going to lock him away. Bucky won’t let them. But his husband needs to stop this. He can’t… shit. If they find out… 

_We want Steve_. His arms insist. _We need to hold him_.

 _I know, I know._ He does. Bucky does know. But, _I don’t know what to do._

 _What are you going to do?_ His brain wonders.

 _What_ can _you do?_ His heart asks. 

_I’m going to be sick_. His stomach tells him.

Bucky puts his hands over his ears. Blocks out the noise. So much noise. Too much of it. 

“Please, shut up.” He mumbles. “Please. I have to think.”

More tears clog his eyes. Makes it hard to see. He doesn’t know what to do. How to help. How to convince Steve that he’s only trying to _help_ when he asks him to stop. 

_But look at what Steve can do_. His heart reminds him. Gentle and still somehow painful. _Look at how beautiful he makes things_.

Bucky covers his eyes. Tries to rid himself of these endless tears that just come on stronger with such thoughts. His heart is right. 

This isn’t fair. Steve’s not doing anything wrong. He isn’t. He’s not hurting anyone. He’s the most trustworthy person Bucky’s ever known. Steve being Captain, being an artist at all, it doesn’t change that. And yet he still needs to convince him to stop. To give up something that’s part of him. An extension of his very soul.

Breaths back up on him. So hard and heavy it hurts his chest. It hurts so much. Steve no longer suffers from asthma, but Bucky wonders if it felt a little like this. This pain in his lungs. Pulling tighter and tighter. Knowing that everything is wrong and having no way to make it right. 

Someone suffers. No matter what. And that someone is going to be Steve. Bucky feels ill.

Alone. He’s all alone in this. There’s no one he can turn to. No one that loves Steve the same. Even if Peggy and Sam, maybe even Tony, know--and Bucky’s certain they don’t--Bucky can’t risk talking to them about it. It’ll put their Houses in danger. Knowing about this, that Steve’s been committing crimes for, at the very least, two years, will make them assets. Just as Bucky is now. An asset. To Steve’s crimes. 

Unless… maybe there _is_ someone he can talk to. Ask for help in talking to Steve.

“Sarah…” Bucky whispers.

The one person who _does_ love Steve just as much as Bucky does. Different love, yes, but love just the same. She’d never let anyone hurt her son. No matter the cost to herself. 

The weight of the world piles on him more and more. Shoulders ready to break under it all. How does he tell her? If he phones her, it might upset Steve. If he goes to see her without his headship, it might raise suspicions. 

On Steve’s desk, now trying to redeem itself for causing their earlier collision, is something that sparks an idea. A letter. Bucky can use that friendly looking fountain pen. Might be out of ink, but his husband always keeps the desk’s inkwell full. All he needs is some fresh parchment. Bottom drawer. Waiting to be put to use. 

He settles it down gently on the desk. Runs metal fingers over it and hopes it’ll keep all the promises it’s making of being helpful. The pen tries hard to keep up with Bucky’s fevered strokes as he jots down whatever comes to mind. 

Keep it simple. Keep it vague. Mention worry for Steve. He’s okay. Not hurt. Not sick. Doing something that could get him in trouble. 

Bucky reads it over once. Twice. A third time. Everything seems to be in order. As much as this situation will let it be. 

Shaky hands fold the letter in half and carefully slip it into an envelope. The whole thing feels so heavy in his hands. Bucky just wants to get rid of the damn thing. He quickly starts to address the envelope and pauses, causing the ink the splatter a bit across it. 

If he sends it to the House of Rogers directly, it could raise a few eyebrows. No doubt their staff knows Steve’s handwriting. Something coming from his home and not from him? It might not be overlooked. But if he sends it to City Hall? Only Sarah will get it. So Bucky scribbles down the address and then closes it, having no choice but to use the House of Rogers’ wax seal to do so. Serves as a stamp as well. Society privilege. 

Still trembling, Bucky’s ready to dash to the nearest post box. All he needs to do is get there and shove this wretched thing into it and he can get back to Steve. 

Steve.

Still downstairs.

Where Bucky left him. Just walked out when his husband handed over something so precious and dear to him. 

Bucky halts right at the door. Everything goes silent. Everything is still. The trembling, his heavy breathing, his heart pounding--it all evens out. 

“What am I doing?” He asks the letter. 

It has no answer for him. All it can do is weigh Bucky down. 

Steve needs him. And instead of being there for him, he ran away. Steve trusted him with his secret and he’s about to expose it. True, it’s to Sarah. His mother who would rather die than ever judge her son. But if Steve wanted her to know, he’d tell her himself. 

“ _What am I doing_?” Bucky repeats to himself. 

Not this. He can’t. He just can’t do this. He needs to get back to Steve. Bucky _wants_ to get to him. To hold him the way his arms asked for earlier. Let him know how much he loves him. That he’s going to be here for him no matter what.

He takes one step out of the office before remembering the letter in his hand. Now obsolete. Bucky twists around to quickly toss it at the waste basket, where it teeters on the edge until the mean breeze from the closing door pushes it between the basket and the desk.

The house feels so much more open now than it did just a few minutes ago. All the rooms warming up to Bucky again as he makes his way back to Steve. 

Bucky finds him still in the studio. Hands resting on the workbench and gaze fixed on it. His face is blank despite the tears that run down it. Heart twisting painfully--so much so Bucky almost starts to cry again himself--he steps in quietly so as not to startle him. 

“Husband?” He whispers as he approaches. Puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Steve?”

Steve glances over at him, tears and all, and whimpers, “Bucky… I’m so sorry. I…”

“Sh.” Bucky throws his arms around his neck. “It’s okay, Steve. Husband, it’s okay.”

Steve is shaking still, and the very instant he’s in Bucky’s arms he breaks down in sobs. 

“I’m… I’m sorry…” He cries. “I shouldn’t have… I can’t…” Steve chokes on a rough gasp. “I’m not going to do it anymore.”

The surprise at that confession spreads through the entire room. Even the art doesn’t understand it.

“What?” Bucky asks. “What are you saying?”

Steve hugs him tighter as though he’s afraid of Bucky leaving him again. Trying to assure him that’s not the case, Bucky wraps him up tighter as well. Pets his hand over Steve’s hair.

“I t-told the museum that this was m-my last exhibit.” 

“You… you did?”

“Mhm.” He whimpers and has to take a few more shaky breaths before saying, “You d-didn’t ask f-for this. I’ll g-get rid of ev-everything.”

“Hey,” Bucky whispers. “Husband, please look at me.”

Steve does. He listens and looks at him and in the moment Bucky’s sure he’d do anything he asked. Only Bucky doesn’t want anything from him. He takes Steve’s face in his hands.

“I love you, Steve.” He tells him. Steve’s face crumples like he’s going to start crying even harder, but he nods and must not be able to answer beyond that. “I know that Society says there’s something wrong with you and, I don’t know if they’re right or not, but, Steve, I love you. I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. Once again needs a moment before speaking more. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, husband. Steve, the fire and ice? That was us?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if…”

Bucky interrupts his next apology with a kiss. Hopes to convey just how much Steve doesn’t need to apologize for anything. 

“I loved it.” He murmurs. Brow pressed against Steve’s, Bucky continues to run his hands over Steve. Keeps that connection. He won’t let the world fall apart. “I felt you, I think. Somewhere in them. The art, I mean. It’s beautiful. Like you.” He kisses him again. “I wish you didn’t have to…” Bucky sighs. “It’s not fair, our world. It just isn’t.”

Wiping his eyes, Steve’s mouth lifts in nervous grin. 

“No, it’s not.” Steve looks at him like he’s not sure what to do, but takes a chance placing his hands at Bucky’s hips. “But sometimes it gives us good things, too.”

His statement sounds more like a question. Bucky doesn’t know if he means for it to be one or not, but he nods anyway.

“Yes, husband.” He assures him. Bucky wants him to know that he’s still one of those good things. The best thing. “Good things that come in the most unexpected places.”

Steve’s smile brightens a bit. Eyes twinkling with leftover tears as he looks out at the room that shouldn’t exist. Seems as though he’s saying goodbye. 

“We can… we can turn this into one of those new home gymnasiums.” He offers. “I hear a lot of people are doing that now. Would you like that, Bucky?”

“You’re really going to just get rid of this?”

Not that Bucky doesn’t think that’s the best idea for the situation. Whatever gets Steve off the path of harm’s way as quick as possible. It’s just… Bucky can feel so much of Steve in here. So much that he hasn’t gotten the chance to know. It floats through the room. Hangs in the air. Whispers that linger in all the corners and have seeped into the walls and floors. 

“For you, my Sweetheart, I’ll do anything.” Steve sucks in another jagged breath. “I’ll get rid of everything. I just…”

He trails off. Folds his mouth in and glances down at his feet with a shake of his head. 

“It’s okay, Steve.” Bucky slips his fingers under Steve’s chin. “What is it?”

“Well, I was just wondering if I could…” He closes his eyes and only keeps his chin up because Bucky’s fingers are still there. “Maybe you’d let me… draw you? Just this once?” Steve rattles his head. “I understand if you don’t want me to. Sketches are one thing, I know. It’s just…”

“Where do you want me?”

Steve’s entire face lights up. He smiles and opens his mouth as though he means to answer but is just too overwhelmed for form any words. 

“Really? You’re… okay with it?”

“Yes. Of course I am. Where…”

“Over there.” Steve says. “Just sit in the chair. I’ll do the rest.”

He’s excited. Despite all that’s happened tonight, the knowledge that this part of him is going to be taken away, Steve’s still excited. Holding in grins like a small child anticipating a promised gift as he mixes paints with expert skill and knowledge. He’s taken off his suit jacket. Undone his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up as far as they can go. He fixes a canvas--small, maybe the size of two books side by side--to his easel. 

Bucky does what he’s been asked to do. Sits down in the old, ratty looking armchair. There are tears in the fabric and it smells musty and full of dampness. He’s had to be still for portraits before, but the artists always pose him. Steve’s just told him to sit and hasn’t given him any direction otherwise. 

“Do you want…”

“Sh.” Steve shushes him. Barely even paying him any mind as he sets up a few more things. 

“You mean I can’t…”

Steve’s eyes flick up to him like bullets seeking their target. Whatever Bucky was going to say disappears under that look from his headship. Pulse quickening and breath colliding with the next. 

“Bucky,” Steve states. Voice heavy with authority. “Listen to your husband.”

A tiny smirk twitches on his lips and Steve puts his index finger in front of them. Bucky nods in response and Steve goes back to what he was doing. So Bucky just sits back, hands in his lap, and waits. Within minutes, he’s running a brush across the canvas.

The night begins to shift again. Everything in the room turning to Steve. Waiting for him. For his command. The world bending to his will. Bucky’s never felt something so intense before. 

Steve’s eyes burn. They keep moving from the painting, up to Bucky and back to the painting. But he never _looks_ at Bucky. Or rather he doesn’t look _back_ at Bucky. Since Bucky can’t take his eyes off of him. Because while Steve doesn’t _look_ at him, he sees him. Sees something that Bucky can’t describe. It’s like he’s looking inside of him, seeing things that only Steve can see. 

Bucky can only stare in awe of his husband as a new devotion whispers along the edge of his heart. This is Steve. Open. Unguarded. Fully him in every way. His mind finding beauty. Creating a new world all his own. 

It’s breathtaking. Every second of it. The unpredictable strokes of Steve’s hand. The simmering fire in his eyes. The thoughtful curve of his lips. All of it has Bucky’s insides ablaze. Heat coiling around bones. Molten gold pooling in his belly.

It might take only a few minutes. Maybe hours. Perhaps days. However long it is, it’s not enough time, for when Steve sets his paintbrush down Bucky whimpers. 

The noise catches Steve’s attention. The very first thing that pulls him out of the bubble he’s been in. 

“What is it?” Steve asks. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Bucky whispers. “I just…” He smirks and says, “I can speak now?”

Steve rolls his eyes and snorts. “You just can’t help it, can you?”

“What?” Bucky giggles.

“You little jerk.” Steve smiles. “Yes. You can speak now.”

“Oh good. Then, can I see what you’ve done?”

“You want to see?” Steve wonders. As though Bucky wanting to surprises him. “Really?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well I hope I didn’t sit here all this time just to be told no. That’s your choice of course. You are my headship.”

That makes Steve smile again. As though he was worried that maybe Bucky no longer trusted him as such. 

“Come,” He whispers and holds an arm out for him. “You can look.”

Anticipation dances along Bucky’s heart. Steve’s done a painting for him. _Of_ him. Nothing can prepare him for what he sees.

“Steve…” 

The painting’s a close up of his face. Not posed and proper the way portraits are always displayed as. It’s just him. So realistic it could almost pass for a photograph. With eyes shining like the glistening sea. 

“How did you do this?” Bucky asks. “It’s… this is so beautiful.”

Maybe that’s arrogant of him. It is, after all, a painting of Bucky. But it’s not so much _him_ that’s the beautiful part. It’s the way Steve’s made him look. The way Steve sees him. The world through Steve’s eyes. That’s what this room is.

“Thank you, baby.” Steve murmurs. “For letting me do this. One last time.”

Bucky’s stomach falls. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Steve’s final painting. The last time this would ever happen. The last time the world would be his. The last time Steve will ever be whole. Something inside Bucky aches at the thought.

“Are you tired, Bucky?” Steve asks. “You can go to bed if you want. I’ll start packing things up in here.”

Steve gets up off the stool he’s been sitting on and actually starts doing that. Stuffing his precious paints and brushes and pencils and charcoals in one of the wooden crates under the workbench. 

Bucky glances back at his painting. Looks at all those tucked in various spots around the room. All of which will be lost.

“No.” Bucky states.

His husband looks up from his chore. Face a little pale as if he’s trying to just get this done and over with, but still sick at the thought. 

“No?” Steve shakes his head. “You’re not tired? Did you want to help? Make sure it all goes?”

“No, not at all.” Bucky takes hold of Steve’s wrist. Makes him put the bottle of paint back down on the workbench. “You’re not doing this. I won’t let you.”

“Won’t let me?”

“That’s right.” For just one second, Bucky worries that he might be bordering on being too disrespectful. But Steve just stares at him. “Steve, husband, you brought me back to life. You… you fixed what I didn’t even know needed fixing.” Tears gather in his eyes and Bucky feels his voice cracking. “And I love you. I’m not going to take anything away from you.”

Steve glances around the room as it breathes a deep sigh of relief.

“But… Bucky…”

“ _No_.” Bucky steps up close to him. Gathers Steve face between his hand. “You listen to me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Those tears spill over his eyes. “I love you. _All_ of you. I will not be responsible for severing any part of you. You will keep this studio. You will keep on painting. You love me enough to give it up? Well I love you enough not to let you.”

For a moment, Steve just stares at him and Bucky thinks that maybe he’s said it wrong. Again. 

So he’s just bit shocked when Steve is suddenly kissing him. Hot and heated and pulling him so close Bucky feels himself melting. There’s paint on Steve’s hands still and it smears on Bucky’s cheeks. 

“I love you, Bucky.” Steve says between kisses. “Thank you.” He keeps kissing him. “Thank you so much.”

Steve’s lips run down Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s already panting. Mind and body quickly catching up to Steve. 

“Will you take me here, husband?” He asks. Hear the pleading in his voice and can’t bring himself to care. Not in here especially. Where things are all Steve’s. “Please?”

There’s a mattress on the other side of the studio, but if Steve agrees, Bucky doubts they’ll make it over there. 

Steve pulls away for a second. Chuckles a bit as he wipes a thumb across both of Bucky’s cheeks.

“I got paint on you.” He murmurs. “In here?”

“Yes here. Please? And don’t worry about the paint. I’m already yours anyway.” 

“And you’ll still be here in the morning?”

Like Bucky promised last night. When Steve was so worried about tonight and Bucky finding out his secret. 

“You have my word, husband.” Bucky promises. “Always.”

Steve answers that with another kiss. Deep and passionate and pulling the breath right out of Bucky’s lungs. His knees grow weak and wobbly and he’d collapse in a puddle at Steve’s feet if not for the fact that Steve’s hands hold him up by the waist.

Just like Bucky thought, they’re not going to make it to the mattress. Not when Steve hoists him up and puts him on the workbench. Knocking jars and bottles over in the process. 

Neither of them even pause. Not even for a second as they shed clothes and exchange kisses. Sweat and heat and desire all mixing together here in Steve’s studio. A place never meant to exist. 

Where fire and ice were born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! And welcome back :) Once again, I feel the need to offer my apologies for taking so much longer now to update. I really have so much going on, not just irl, but jumbled up in my head as well. But no matter what I'm working on, this and [anchor text](<a).>Aint No Rest for the Wicked are my top priorities. 
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> So I know by me we're really headed into warmer weather! I hope everyone is enjoying their start of spring and for anyone taking finals I wish you all the best of luck!! Remember to breathe and stretch drink water and don't be too hard on yourself! 
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> Okay, so visuals! Yay!
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> So we'll start with Bucky comforting Steve the night before the exhibit
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> Here's Bucky arriving at the exhibit 
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> This could be any time at the exhibit really. For me I see this happening after Tony and Gabe tell him that he makes Steve happy
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> And then entering Steve's studio for the first time ((please ignore Draco Malfoy in the background. He's just a little lost))
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> We'll next go to Steve at the exhibit. Probably talking to some reporters before they go in.
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> After a few drinks, Steve gets a little silly and laughs a lot. 
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> When Steve's trying to apologize to Bucky about the studio and the art
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> And of course that smile through sad and tears that Steve does when Bucky tells him he's not to give up being an artist 
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> Just a general idea of what Steve and Bucky are wearing
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> And another general idea, this time of Steve's painting of Bucky
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> So there you have it! I hope you enjoyed and thank you so much for sticking with me! I really do try to get these updates up as soon as possible!
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> And I've also had quite a few people ask me if it's okay to send headcanons or ask questions about this, and yes! Please please please! Go right ahead! Fill my [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)inbox if you'd like!
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> Have great days ahead!


	29. Well, It's Been Forever But Here You Go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **minor trigger warnings for semi-detailed illnesses and medical procedures**
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> Eventual happy endings are promised!

Sunbeams scatter happily through the high windows of the hidden basement room. Small flecks of dust dance within the soft cones of illumination. Glowing in their own little world.

Morning. Busy, but not overly so. Footsteps and soft voices and carriages that roll over cobblestoned streets. Brooklyn sounds that wash over the Sector in gentle surrsurations. There’s a sense of calm and comfort to it. 

Steve doesn’t move. Not yet. He can afford to give his husband--currently tucked comfortably against him--a little more time to sleep. So he does. Just watches Bucky instead. Memorizing the already recognizable rise and fall of his husband’s chest. The tips of his shoulder blades. Angel wings. Stubborn hair resting contently over the side of his face. There’s paint on that soft, smooth skin. Different colors mixed and swirled together along his neck and chest and cheeks and chin. Steve’s hands are smeared with the leftovers. 

Paints are running low. Colors steadily disappearing in the secret cover of moonlit nights. Steve is going to have to get more soon. Since many nights consist of he and Bucky down here in the studio. Mixing paints with other activities. Some nights--like the night just past--they don’t even make it back to their bedroom, instead finding sleep upon the mattress pushed up against the wall. Like a couple of beggars on the street. Stuffed on it and buried deep within the ragged blankets. 

Bucky refuses to leave if Steve’s not ready to join him in their bedroom. He enjoys watching him work. At least, that’s what he says. There’s something about Bucky being with him while he paints that fills Steve with excitement. Lights him with a fire that burns deep within his soul. 

Steve loves it when Bucky joins him. Even when the world as he knows it fades away and becomes an entirely different place altogether. Where images and colors splayed across canvases belong solely to Steve. According to Bucky, that’s when Steve is most himself. The time he’s completely detached from every bit of stress he’s ever had. Nothing to hold him back.

These past few weeks have been some of the freest Steve’s ever felt. All of Steve revealed to his husband. Secret out. With Bucky knowing about his art. Bucky _accepting_ , even _encouraging_ , Steve along the way. 

When Bucky had first left the studio that night--so shocked and disgusted by what he’d walked into--Steve was sure that was the end. He’d lost the greatest love he’d ever had just because he couldn’t stop himself from painting. His freedom as well. Because his mind really was damaged and useless. Bucky was running off to phone the proper authorities. They’d take Steve away and bring him to one of the Institutes to study him under the guise of making him better. That’s if he didn’t end up in prison. Maybe he’d be tossed into both. 

But Bucky had come back. Slipped back in and brought with him all the love and tenderness in the world. And let Steve keep his art. Steve couldn’t believe it. Sometimes still doesn’t. He can’t understand how he’s gotten so lucky. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers. “My Sweetheart. Thank you.”

He presses his lips to Bucky’s shoulder--the little bit that’s peeking out from under all the blankets. It gets cold down here in the winters and hot in the summers. The air is damp when it rains and it smells of must. Yet here Steve is. Cuddled with his husband who chose to stay with him. 

Steve’s never been so in love.

Alas, their time spent hidden away in this secret room must come to an end. Sam will be arriving within the hour to meet for their daily run. It won’t be wise, and not at all appropriate, to answer the door with paint all over them. Though Steve could rest his head back down and sleep some more, probably a few hours more, it’s time to get the day started. He’s been… tired lately. Unable to muster up the energy he usually has to keep himself going. 

Hand upon the shoulder he’s just kissed, Steve gently shakes Bucky. Whispers soft words to wake him while letting his lips graze just behind Bucky’s ear. 

“Come, my Sweetheart,” he whispers. “It’s time to get up.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. His head shakes as though he’s actually answering Steve and he pulls the covers tighter around his body. Steve chuckles and peppers kisses down the back of his husband’s neck.

“Listen to your husband, Bucky,” he says. Lips still pressed into Bucky’s neck and tongue seeking that soft skin. “Wake up.”

He gets a disgruntled--playful and lighthearted--groan and Bucky gradually shifts his position so that he’s on his back. His eyes are still closed so Steve leans in and kisses both of them. Pulls a smile up on Bucky’s lips. When he _does_ open his eyes to look at him, Steve jerks back. Jabs his fingers into his own eyes.

“Steve?” 

Bucky’s sat up already. Quickly responding to Steve’s odd behavior. It’s just… Bucky’s eyes… they…

He peers back at Bucky. Sees the concerned confusion all over his face. His husband is holding back. Steve can tell. That metal hand is whispering like he wants to move it but hasn’t. Steve flicks his gaze back up to Bucky. No longer are those eyes dull the way they were just a few seconds ago. They’re back. Shining like ice on the ocean. Full of worry at the moment. 

Steve cracks a smile, releasing an uneasy chuckle with his next breath. Hand at the side of Bucky’s face, he presses a kiss to his husband’s cheek.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I… thought I saw something.”

“Saw something?” Bucky questions. “Are you okay, husband?”

“Yes,” Steve says. Because it’s true. It has to be. “I’m fine.”

The lack of color in Bucky’s eyes just now… that was nothing. Meant nothing other than Steve’s own eyes adjusting to the morning light. The lighting down here isn’t always the greatest. A trick of the light. That’s all it was.

Steve ignores the little voice in his head. A tiny whisper that tries to get him to acknowledge the fact that this is not the first time over the past few weeks that it’s happened. 

_A fluke. An anomaly,_ he thinks. _That’s all_. 

Colors being off lately, fading away to almost nothing, just a dull reflection of the once bright and vivacious shade they once were? Stress. A dying mother. A House looking to discredit his own. Reporters still looking for a juicy story full of scandal and mud slinging surrounding their nontraditional marriage. It’s all just stress. 

“Shall we start the day, Bucky?” 

Steve rises to his feet. He needs just a second to catch his balance since standing has caused a sudden rush to his head. Dizziness descends upon him and he offers his husband both hands once it passes. Both hands and another smile since Bucky seems to need one more. 

Those hands remain empty for a few heartbeats as Bucky appears to be working over something in his mind. Perhaps wondering if something really did just happen or if he’s only imagining things. The latter must win since Bucky answers with a lovely smile and gracing Steve with two hands in his own. 

“It’s Saturday, husband,” Bucky reminds him. “I get you all to myself today, don’t I?”

“Mm.” Steve pulls Bucky into his arms. Wraps him up and just holds him there long enough that Bucky ends up swathing his own arms around Steve’s waist. “How could I forget?” He kisses the top of his head. “Right after my run with Sam, I’m all yours.”

Bucky’s head is pressed up against Steve’s chest so Steve can feel his movements perfectly. He shakes it. Saying no and refusing to let go. Steve can hear the soft swooshing sounds of his left fingers moving as they lock with his right hand. 

“Mm-mm.” Bucky takes a tighter grip around him. “Not letting you go.”

“Is that so, good sir?” Steve replies. 

“Yes. I’m keeping you.”

“You already have me,” he chuckles. “Forever. But I _am_ going for my run.”

“And what if I say no?”

Slipping a finger under Bucky’s chin, Steve guides his face up so that he can look into his eyes. Still bright. Still happy and full of life. Steve bumps their brows together. Holds his gaze. It makes Bucky squirm a little. Playfully. Trying to keep from laughing. 

“I suppose I’ll just have to pull rank on you then,” he teases. “Put you in your place, hm?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Huffs a bit through pouty lips as he otherwise silently calls Steve on his bluff. 

“Is that so? Shall I start calling you _sir_ then, husband?” Bucky delivers that _sir_ with a certain air of deliberance. Knowing full well Steve would never, and teasing right back. “Is that how tradition starts?”

“Always have to be a smartass, don’t you?”

Steve leans in to peck Bucky’s cheek. His husband is still chuckling at Steve’s jesting. 

“It has been said, _sir_ , that you _enjoy_ my humor. I believe those words came directly from these lips.”

Fingers brush over Steve’s mouth. Three of them lazily moving over the very spot Bucky’s accusing.

“Okay, okay,” Steve sighs. “You’ve caught me red-handed. Or should I say--” Steve lifts up his paint covered hands. “Yellow handed?”

Both of them chuckle as they look at his palms. Steve squeezes his eyes. Blinks a few times to rid himself of dullness that clouds over the vivid color. It goes away. Just like all the times before. 

Steve steers them towards the door before giving Bucky any chance to notice that anything might be amiss. Because there isn’t anything wrong. 

“Shall I start breakfast while you’re out?” Bucky asks as they reach their bedroom. “I can have it ready by the time you and Sam get back.”

“That sounds lovely,” Steve answers. “Not too much though.” He doesn’t have much of an appetite. “I think I’ll just have some porridge.”

Already shedding his clothes, Steve doesn’t realize Bucky’s staring at him. Steve straightens back up. His husband’s look is off. As if he’s thrown off by something though Steve can hardly imagine what. 

“Again, Steve?”

“Again? Again what?”

Bucky crosses the room and as soon as he’s close enough, he touches Steve’s forehead with the back of his hand. The touch makes Steve want to cringe away. He knows it. Something that his mother used to do so often that it became second nature to know exactly how it felt with her hand pressed against him like that. 

“Are you getting ill, husband?” Bucky asks as he moves his hand about. Checking for fever. “You haven’t been eating much.”

“Oh.” Steve thinks back on the past few days. He remembers eating, but then, Bucky might be right. Most nights he only eats a few bites of dinner and for lunch… Steve… can’t really recall eating lunch. “I guess I just haven’t really felt like eating all that much.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

The truth is yes. Steve really is feeling okay. There are just moments. Moments that something feels a little off. The room spinning. Colors blinking in and out. A strange ringing in his ear. But it always works itself out within seconds. Nothing to panic over. Nothing. 

“I feel fine,” he tells him. “Just a little tired that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky’s hand is still moving along different spots on his face. He’d probably keep doing it if Steve didn’t take hold of it. “Steve?”

“Are you worried about me?” Steve kisses Bucky’s knuckles. “I haven’t been sick, not _once_ , since the procedure. The medicines keep me healthy.”

Bucky’s mouth twists a bit as he runs over Steve’s statement. Those eyes of his zero in on Steve’s. 

“Not once?” he asks. 

Cracking a smile, Steve kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose.

“Not once. I swear.”

“Fine,” Bucky relents. With a sigh and light push to Steve’s chest to send him towards the restroom. “Then go shower, husband. The quicker you get out of here, the quicker you’ll be back.”

Steve chuckles. He kisses the tips of his fingers and then presses them to Bucky’s cheek before moving for the shower.

It doesn’t take long. Over the years, Steve’s learned how to wash paint off his body rather quickly and, more importantly, very efficiently. Under his nails, between his fingers, behind his ears--all spots he’s sure to scrub over several times. 

When he’s finished showering, Steve takes a moment to dry off before wrapping the towel around his waist. There’s a strange tingle in his hands. His feet, too, but he clenches his hands and shakes them out until the sensation goes away.

Over at the sink, Steve moistens his toothbrush--handle made from silver and bristles made from badger hair--and dips the end in the ceramic jar of tooth powder. Not only are those in Society lucky enough to have such privileges, Steve is even able to afford _flavored_ tooth powder. The first time Bucky used it he was thrilled. 

Running the brush over his teeth, Steve opens his mouth wider to run it along his tongue. The brush falls from his hand. Lands in the sink with a loud thunk as silver crashes into porcelain. 

Steve claps a hand over his mouth. Heart pounding and breaths backing up, he peels his hand away and slowly, cautiously re-opens his mouth. He’s trembling as he sticks his tongue out and sees it again. The bright red to it. The smoothness of it. Steve’s stomach turns.

He can taste the liver. The pound of it he had to eat everyday because of his anemia. The _two_ pounds he needed whenever his tongue looked like this. Never again. He’ll never eat it again. 

The hand on his shoulder startles Steve. A jolt of pain spasms through his lungs with his gasp. It hurts. It’s familiar. A strange, old sensation that Steve can remember from his youth. Hand over his chest, Steve turns to face his husband. Finds him pale-faced and wide-eyed. His reaction has worried Bucky. 

“My apologies,” Steve murmurs. Possibly too loud since he might have some water still lodged in his ears. At least, that’s what it feels like. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side. Inspecting almost. As if he’s looking for something out of place. The weed in a bed of roses. 

“Steve, are you sure you’re alright?” Bucky asks. “Perhaps we should phone for Dr. Banner. Maybe you _are_ catching sick. There’s a first time for everything”

Impossible. That’s not… it’s not right. Not with House of Erskine’s procedure. Steve’s not been ill a day since then. He’s put all of that behind him. No more asthma that choked the air right out of him. No more hearing problems that silenced so much of the world for him. No more colors hidden behind shades of gray. No more anemia the kept his body from creating the enzymes his life depended on. No more eating the chunks of raw liver everyday just to make up for it--Steve’s just sick to his stomach at the thought. No more burden. It’s over. All of that is over. Behind him forever. 

“No, no,” Steve insists. “I swear, I’m fine.”

He is. He _has_ to be. There’s no reason for him not to be. Steve’s been taking his medication just like he’s supposed to. Just like he’s been for the past decade. This will pass. 

Without giving Bucky the chance to say anything else, Steve moves past him and goes back to the bedroom to change. Sam will be here soon. They’re going running. Like they do almost every morning. Just like the morning they met. 

“Steve, maybe you should lay down for a while.”

Steve is moving quickly about the room as he dresses. Going to the wardrobe for a shirt and then to his drawers for a pair of trousers. Bucky follows him from spot to spot and maintains that Steve should stay today.

“I said I’m _fine_ , Bucky,” Steve repeats. Over and over. Because he is. He’s perfectly fine. “I have to get ready.”

“I could phone Dr. Banner,” Bucky goes on saying as if Steve hadn’t denied that request earlier. “Just to--”

“No!” Steve’s shout causes Bucky to fumble over a few words until he stops speaking altogether. “You’re _not_ to phone anyone.” Bucky can’t if Steve says so. He can see that conflict cross Bucky’s face. “I told you I’m fine.”

“But--”

“Listen to your husband, Bucky. I’m telling you. You’re _not_ to phone Bruce. There’s no need to bother him.” What he means is, _I’m not going to be that burden again_. “I’m going for my run. When Sam and I get back, we’ll eat breakfast together.” What he means is, _I’m fine. I’m fine, I swear_. “Understand?”

There’s an internal flinch at the harshness of Steve’s voice. He hadn’t meant to sound so hard, but the words--and the meaning behind them--have been said as headship. Several emotions pass over his husband’s face. Bucky appears shocked, hurt as well, and he looks down. Powerless and reminded of it.

“Yes, husband,” he whispers. “I understand.”

“Oh God,” Steve says, horrified. He never wants Bucky to feel such a thing. Like he has no say in his life at all. “I’m not… Bucky, I…”

The words that Steve is looking for disappear when Bucky looks back up at him. Eyes like steel. Face hard. Steve’s throat feels too tight. Bucky’s never looked at him like that. Not even when they first married and he wanted nothing to do with him. 

“Bucky…” Steve whimpers. It’s all he can seem to get out.

Not that it matters. Bucky marches over to the bed and snatches up one of the pillows. It’s in his hands for less than a heartbeat before he’s flinging it at Steve. Aimed right at his head. 

The act is so unexpected that Steve barely has a chance to duck for cover. The pillow even grazes the top of his head. He glances behind him, stares at the spot the pillow’s landed. Right on top of the writing desk. Knocking several things off as a result. 

“Rule _two, sir_ ,” Bucky growls. Delivering another _sir_ at Steve with a sharp, hurt edge to it. “I’m permitted to throw something at your head if I think you’re doing something stupid. And right now? I think you’re being _unbelievably_ stupid.”

Steve doesn’t mean to laugh. Really, he doesn’t. There’s nothing funny about the situation and the very second it bubbles out of him, Bucky’s angry glare turns furious. Thing is, the fact that Bucky’s comfortable enough to act out in such a way--even if it’s only because they’re in private--it’s glorious. Wonderful. So much more than Steve could ever ask for. 

That was Bucky being Bucky. Angry with Steve and unafraid to show it. Trusting that Steve won’t ever abuse the power bestowed to him by all legal rights. 

Bucky, however, cannot understand what’s going on in Steve’s head. Where the sudden laughter is coming from. All he does in response is storm for the door. 

“No wait!” Steve cries out. Reaching for Bucky and pulling him into his arms. Bucky’s back is pressed up against his chest. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear.”

All he gets in response to that is a huff. Steve can’t really blame his husband. He’s insulted. With good reason.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m just…” Steve presses their cheeks together, but Bucky just remains stiff within his embrace. Perhaps not wanting to move. Perhaps unwilling to disobey his headship. “Phone the House Banner. Bruce can be on his way while I’m with Sam.”

“Now you’re patronizing me.”

“No! Baby, no, I just…” Steve sighs and lets Bucky go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry I did.” He gathers Bucky’s hands and brings them to his lips. Only instead of kissing his knuckles, he waits. Looks at Bucky to get permission again. That makes his husband’s hard exterior crack a little. Bucky nods. Steve kisses. “How do I make it up to you?”

The offer breaks through even more. A whisper of a smile dances along Bucky’s mouth. 

“Stay?”

It’s a question. A request at most. Nothing like the demands he made earlier. Accompanied by one of his best illegal looks. Eyes big and weepy. Lips pushed out. 

“How about I keep it short?” Steve compromises. “Half the time?”

Bucky sighs. He folds his arms over his chest and shrugs. 

“I suppose I’ve shown enough disrespect to my headship for one day,” he says. “That’ll just have to do.” Bucky’s gaze sweeps down and then behind Steve. Presumably at the mess made by the pillow. Nerves sing along Bucky’s face. “Oh, Steve… husband, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Steve places two fingertips over Bucky’s mouth to keep him from going on. It isn’t any wonder for these feelings to show up in his husband. Whether or not Steve is okay with his actions, the way Bucky’s behaved _is_ totally unacceptable by Society’s standards. The privacy of their own home is one thing. But Bucky needs to maintain the proper attitude and behavior out in public. One wrong person seeing such an act could mean a world of trouble for them. 

“You did exactly what I asked you to,” Steve tells him. “It’s okay. No need to apologize for listening to your headship.” He reaches out for his husband and Bucky steps up to him. “May I… is it okay to kiss you?”

“Of course it is.” Bucky smiles. “Just because I was mad at you doesn’t mean I don’t want you to kiss me anymore.”

Thumb brushing along Bucky’s bottom lip, Steve grins and leans in for that kiss. There’s still paint on Bucky’s mouth. Dry enough that it won’t smear back onto Steve’s mouth.

“I love you, you know,” Steve whispers. “So much. Thank you, Bucky. For caring about me.”

“ _Loving_ you,” Bucky corrects. “I love you, too, husband.”

What Steve’s ever done to deserve his husband he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s never thought it possible to love someone so much. 

“Shower, my Sweetheart,” he tells him. “Then you can call Bruce… if you must. And start breakfast. Only if you want,” Steve quickly adds. “That’s not an order or anything. I know Truvie won’t mind.” Today is her later day. Now that Steve’s married, she’s finally agreed to getting a later start on Saturday’s in addition to having off on Sundays. “Make whatever you want. I’ll eat it all.”

Bucky scoffs. “ _Now_ you’re patronizing me.”

Squeezing his fingers together, Steve gives him a guilty smile.

“Just a little.” The bell ringing outside makes them both glance towards the bedroom door. Steve sneaks in a little peck to Bucky’s cheek. Pulls a surprised grin from his husband. “I’ll be back soon.”

There’re arms around Steve’s neck. Tugging him back and keeping him in the room before he gets a full chance to leave.

“Quickly, right? A _short_ run. You promised.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees. “You have my word.”

Those arms hug Steve close. Steve can feel Bucky’s heart beating against his chest. Bump bump, bump bump. 

“Be careful, Steve,” Bucky breathes as he lets go. “And come home to me fast.”

“Will do,” Steve replies as Bucky heads for the restroom to take his shower and he goes to meet Sam.

Steve jogs down the stairs to answer the door. The steps creak slightly under his feet. Each of them insist he acknowledge the bit of cramping in his legs. He doesn’t, and instead heads straight for the door where Sam is waiting. 

“Thought I was gonna be waiting all day,” Sam says as means of greeting when Steve gets the door open. “What took you so long, Lord Rogers?”

“Many apologies, Lord Wilson,” Steve chuckles. “I was speaking with my husband.”

“Speaking?” he asks. Eyebrows wiggling. “Is that what you crazy kids are calling it these days?”

“Come now,” Steve huffs as he closes the door behind him and they both start down the front path. “Is this the way a gentleman of Society should be talking?”

“Oh looks who’s talking,” Sam laughs. “Lord Steven Rogers hasn’t exactly _ever_ been a model in Society behavior, but since you’ve been married?”

Steve laughs as they walk the few blocks to the park. What Sam says is true. Ever since being married, Steve’s been much more vocal about his views and feelings on Society and all Its traditions. Normally, Steve prefers to stay out of the spotlight. Stay behind the stage and make changes from the inside. Marrying Bucky has changed that. He wants the world to be better for his husband. 

The world they live in is not fair. Society will have Bucky never interact with his family again. It will see him under Steve’s thumb--the way it _should_ be, according to traditionalists. Bucky should be seen not heard, unless given permission. His opinions should not be made without being the same as his headship’s. 

All the freedom Steve’s allowed Bucky to have--keeping his former House’s name, letting him stay with the Military Bureau, allowing him to still consider his family as his own, giving him space and time to adjust, finding ways to let him and his friends continue to interact--are all things Society turns their nose up at. And that’s the just tip of the iceberg. 

To top it off, Bucky never had a say in any of this. Never asked for it. Steve believes his husband when he says he loves him. When he says he’s happy. But that love and happiness came with a cost. 

None of it is right. Not now. Not ever. Steve has no idea if he can change the world. He can, however, make things as nice as possible for his husband. 

“You okay, man?” Sam asks. “You look… kinda pale.”

They’ve just reached the park and Sam’s already taken to stretching while Steve just stands there. Paled, apparently. Must be his thoughts running away with him. 

“Yes. I’m fine,” Steve replies and joins Sam in their daily stretch. “Just thinking.”

“Anything important?” 

Everything important though nothing he can risk sharing with Sam. It could put him, and the House of Wilson, in danger. Speaking of such modern notions. 

“No. Nothing serious,” he lies. “But we need to keep this short today. I promised Bucky.”

“Oh really?” Sam smiles. Pats a hand on Steve’s shoulder and jostles him about. “Got interesting plans there, buddy?”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“What a way for you to speak about a married couple.”

“Please,” he blows a soft raspberry through his lips. “Like you wouldn’t say the same about me and Lady Hill.”

“Maria?” Steve perks up a bit. “Have you two been courting?”

Seems Sam has had a slip of the tongue. By the way he ducks his head and hides his bashful smiles. He’d not meant to share that information. Not yet anyway. 

“Are we gonna run anytime today?” Sam says, dodging Steve’s question.

Steve laughs and gives Sam a light jab in the shoulder. 

“Well _now_ look who’s in a hurry!” he jokes. “What’s the matter, Lord Wilson? Don’t you want to share with me what you’ve been up to?”

Instead of answering that, Sam just purses his lips at him. His eyes are narrowed. Playfully. 

“You ready?”

“After you, lovebucket,” Steve chuckles and takes off down the path after Sam--who rolls his eyes as he starts. 

They keep a nice, steady pace to warm up. Just like they always do. Thinking back on the early days of their friendship, Steve can’t help but snicker. Back then, Steve’s idea of a steady pace was blowing past Sam every chance he got. He couldn’t help it.

That was just a year after the procedure. When his body no longer acted like his enemy. Any chance to push himself to the max, Steve took. He ran everywhere and climbed everything and lifted anything he could. His parents were a mix of responses. Happy that their son was healthy and could do the things he couldn’t before. Nervous that the effects were only temporary. And, after a while -- when it was clear that the procedure and medications were long-lasting -- occasionally irritated by Steve’s neverending need to be moving around. Energy pumping through his veins like never before. The sun never seeming to set for him. Or rather, Steve never let it set. He’d missed so much. He wanted to catch up as quickly as possible.

That energy is in shorter supply these days. Over the past few weeks the sun that burns through his body is more like a sweet simmer. Blinking out when Steve least expects it. 

Right now though, he’s pumped full of energy. Racing through him and pushing, pushing, pushing…

“On your left!” Steve shouts as he bolts by Sam. Laughing his head off as he does.

“Oh come on!” Sam calls after him. 

Steve can tell that Sam’s trying to keep up with him. The sounds of his feet hit hard on the ground. His breaths huff out from his body. He even grunts as he attempts to push his legs to match Steve’s speed. 

It’s been a long time since they’ve goofed around like this. Times have been so rough lately. First with Sarah falling ill and then Steve’s sudden and unplanned marriage. Trying to balance being Bucky’s headship while still giving him the freedom he so rightly deserves. 

The burst of energy that surges through Steve now bubbles up in several laughs and leaves him lightheaded and dizzy. Steve feels like he’s flying. Up, up, up. Closer and closer to the sun with wings made just for him. 

There’s a tale that Steve knows of. A warning of wax wings and losing feathers and flying too close to the sun. Of crashing down into the sea when it’s too late to do anything but. 

The sea comes up quick and fast on Steve. Without any warning. Wings melted. Gone. 

One breath he can’t pull into his lungs. A cough that forces what little air remains in them out. Rough and hard. The heaviness that descends upon his chest -- the wheezing that accompanies every attempted breath -- it makes Steve stumble over his feet. Enough so that Sam passes him. Even throws his arm up in the air. A victory. 

“Are you losing your step in your old--Steve?”

Sam’s voice sounds so far away. Steve tries to find him. Looks up and only sees a world of faded colors and blurs. Feels only a world of familiar pain that slithers in and strangles what’s left of him.

There’s something cold and hard under him. 

“Steve!”

No. No this is wrong. This can’t happen. He promised. Promised Bucky--his husband, his Sweetheart, his world. Steve promised Bucky he’d be back soon. They’re going to eat breakfast together. Spend the day lost in one another.

Steve breathes out Sam’s name before the world blankets over him in darkness. 

~~

“Shit,” Bucky swears as the water for Steve’s porridge boils over.

Without thinking, Bucky grabs the pot handle with his right hand, swears again when he burns it, and drops the damn thing back down on the stove.

_Ow!_ his hand shouts. _What’re you doing?!_

_M’sorry!_ Bucky runs his hand under some cool water. _Damn it._

Once his hand has forgiven him and is no longer burning, Bucky surveys the damage. 

“Of course,” he grunts when he sees almost half the water has spilled all over the place. 

Grabbing a rag, Bucky quickly mops up the mess and goes back to fixing up breakfast. Or at least trying to. Eggs benedict. Poached eggs and sausage and bacon and muffins. He’s never tried making it and it’s not going so well. 

There are three eggs on the countertop. Cracked and leaking on a piece of bacon that fell on the floor. Two of the muffins are burnt to a crisp. 

Bucky had been hoping to have breakfast completely ready by the time Steve got back. Since he promised he’d be back quicker than usual, that just doesn’t seem likely. Maybe this is the universe punishing him for not obeying his headship properly. 

After all, Steve had instructed him to shower first, phone the House of Banner second. Bucky did it reversed. He doubts Steve will mind very much. His husband wasn’t exactly handing out orders. Never really is unless he feels it’s in his -- actually, _Bucky’s _\-- best interest. The universe? Well, it doesn’t seem to be too pleased with how Bucky’s acting today.__

__First throwing his little temper tantrum with the pillow and then taking his own liberties with what Steve told him to do._ _

__Temper tantrum might be a bit much. Steve _did_ give him that rule. Bucky can still remember that night so clearly. Home from the club opening. Steve tucking him safely in his arms as they had their long, overdue discussion. _You have full permission to throw something at my head even._ _ _

__It’s what Steve told him. As his headship. Rules are always delivered as headship. Signed as husband._ _

__But if the wrong person sees Bucky acting like that or even hears of such a thing it can reflect so poorly on Steve. Letting his spouse get away with such crude, disrespectful behavior. And towards his _headship_ no less. The press would have a field day with it. _ _

__It’s just… Bucky’s been worried about Steve. Things were fine -- good, excellent even -- after the exhibit. Secret moonlit trips down to Steve’s studio where shadows and paints and nighttime whispers make the world new again. Things aren’t _bad_ now, just… something’s a little off with Steve and if something is bothering him it’s not as though he’s just going to come out and say it. Bucky knows him well enough to know that it’ll be like pulling teeth just to get him to admit something _might_ be wrong. _ _

__Steve. Bucky’s good-natured, big-hearted, stubborn as the oldest of mules husband. An ass through and through. Boy does Bucky love him._ _

__But the fact that Steve hasn’t been eating like he normally does -- full dishes, sometimes even seconds -- and hasn’t even seemed to notice is a bit off putting. There’s a paleness to Steve’s skin that Bucky’s noticed. It comes and goes, but when it’s there it’s hard to miss. He’s been lacking energy. Bucky can tell by the droopy eyes and the way he practically falls asleep before his head even hits the pillow. The way he’s been dragging himself out of bed in the morning rather than popping up like springtime flowers. Ready to face down another day._ _

__So instead of listening to his headship and showering right away, Bucky phoned the House of Banner first. Spoke to Bruce. Who agreed to come over immediately, but assured Bucky it’s probably nothing._ _

__“Stress can do a lot of things to a person’s body,” he had said. “Even one like Steve’s. Given Lady Rogers’ health and all that the two of you have been…” Bruce cut himself off there. “Oh… my apologies, Lord Barnes, I only meant…”_ _

__Bucky told him it was fine. He understood what Bruce meant and he’s not wrong. Sarah’s getting sicker and he and Steve _have_ indeed been through so much in so little time. It’s hard to believe that he’s been married to Steve Rogers for six months already. Though, if there’s one thing life has taught Bucky, it’s that one moment can change everything. Now he has six months of moments. Moments that have changed the way he sees the world, sees himself, sees everything. _ _

__He smiles to himself as he regards the mess he’s made in the kitchen. Good thing Truvie comes in late today. She’d be furious with him. The thought makes Bucky smile more. Truvie is as good as family now. The Housekeeper. Good as family. Everything is different._ _

__Letting out a soft sigh, Bucky takes to finishing his attempts at making a decent breakfast for his husband while also trying to clean up a bit._ _

__The water for Steve’s porridge is just starting to boil again when Bucky hears the front door open. Well, Steve does always make good on his promises. He’s back a lot sooner than Bucky thought he’d be. Breakfast’s not ready yet, but this will give Steve enough time to shower again since he always does after his morning run. Perfect._ _

__First checking the water again, Bucky lowers the burner and then goes to greet his husband. Passing the grandfather clock in the hall, the big, copper hands tell him that just thirty minutes has gone by. That’s actually a _whole_ lot sooner than Bucky figured he’d be back. Knowing Steve, Bucky thought he’d be back just a few minutes shy of his normal ninety minutes._ _

__Maybe it’s not Steve at all, but Truvie. She’s not scheduled for another hour, but something doesn’t feel right. Bucky can hear something going on in the front room. Someone moving about quickly._ _

__“Steve?” Bucky calls._ _

__The answering shout is not from Steve. Not his husband. Not Truvie either. Sam’s panicked _Bucky!_ shoots through Bucky like lightning. The tone and urgency tell Bucky he needs to move faster. But his legs have turned to rubber. Unreliable and wobbly and Bucky can’t get them to go quicker. He just paces into the front room. _ _

__What he sees leaves him horrified. Steve. Splayed out on the floor. Skin ashen and dampened with sweat. Vomit stains the front of his shirt. Sam’s too. There’s a horrible wheezing sound coming from his husband and Bucky can’t seem to hear anything but that. Life coming out of Steve with every exhale and all Bucky can do is stand there._ _

__Sam is saying things. None of the words filter through the water and fog that have made home in Bucky’s mind. All he hears is that sound. Death’s promises. Sam is doing things, too. He’s frantically gotten Steve’s shirt open and keeps tapping Steve’s cheeks and lifting his chin a bit._ _

__The front door is still open. Wide open. An eye for anyone on the outside to look in and see. Bucky crosses the room, moves right by Steve and Sam, and closes the door. It shuts gently, locking him in this nightmare. In a world that’s about to take Steve from him._ _

___No._ _ _

__Every part of him whispers their absolute dread at the possibility. He can’t lose Steve. He can’t._ _

__Five seconds. He has five seconds to panic._ _

__One…_ _

__Two…_ _

__Three…_ _

__“Sam, move away from him,” Bucky instructs. “Give him room to breathe.”_ _

__Sam looks up at him. Tears in his eyes. He glances back at Steve and then to Bucky again before nodding and scooting away._ _

__“I need you to go upstairs and phone for Peggy,” Bucky continues. She’s the only one close enough who may have seen Steve in such a state. “Tell her there’s an emergency and we need her right away. Then call Sarah and Joseph.”_ _

__“What about a doc--”_ _

__“Bruce is already on the way.”_ _

__Oh dear God let him hurry. Please let him get here fast._ _

__Bucky says nothing else and Sam goes off to make those calls. Alone with his husband, Bucky kneels down by his side. Two fingers act on their own and touch the side of Steve’s neck. Bucky’s not too sure what he’s looking for, but he feels something there. Hard and heavy. A fast beatbeatbeat. Steve’s chest tries to rise, but falls too soon. He’s breathing too fast and not really breathing at all._ _

__“Steve?” Bucky murmurs. “Husband, can you hear me?”_ _

__He takes hold of Steve’s hand. It’s cold and clammy and stays limp within his own._ _

__“Come on, Steve,” he whispers. “I know you can hear me. It’s me. It’s Bucky. Your husband. Your Sweetheart.” Bucky pets his hand over Steve’s hair. “I’m here, okay? So is Sam. I need you to open your eyes for me.” He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Come on, my love, you can do it. Hear my voice and come back to me.”_ _

__The fingers in Bucky’s hand twitch. Just a little, but it’s a reaction. Bucky doesn’t take a chance looking away from Steve. If he opens his eyes for a second, he needs to see._ _

__Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek. It’s warm to the touch. Too warm. He’s running the fever Bucky feared earlier._ _

__Instead of just speaking to him this time, Bucky tries something else. He needs to clear his throat before trying. It still cracks twice before he can manage the first word._ _

__“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Bucky sings. Soft and gentle. Trying to coax Steve away from Death’s grip. “You make me happy, when skies are grey.” There’s a tighter hold on his hand. Feeble and weak, but still tighter. “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you--” Tears rush to Bucky’s eyes. “--please don’t take my sunshine away.”_ _

__Steve’s eyes squeeze. They slowly open and gaze upward. Unfocused and dazed. Bucky has no idea if he can see him or not, but Steve’s eyes are open. Hope hits him so hard he could scream. Terrible, horrible hope. A lying, traitorous emotion. One that can swoop in so happily and be snatched away in pain and agony._ _

__“Steve,” Bucky whispers. Hears heavy footsteps hurrying towards them. “Husband, can you hear me?”_ _

__Steve’s eyes blink. Rapidly. Like he’s trying to get an annoying piece of dust out. He tries moving them. Looks as though he’s trying to look for Bucky._ _

__“I’m right here, Steve.” Bucky picks up his hand and holds it to his chest. “I’m here, husband.”_ _

__“Peggy’s on her way,” Sam announces, appearing on Steve’s other side. Good. She should be here quick. She and Gabe don’t live too far. “And the Lord and Lady Rogers are coming.”_ _

__Now Steve tries searching for Sam. Tears leak out of his eyes. Moisture gathering and dancing along his eyelashes. His mouth opens but nothing more than that wheezing sound comes out._ _

__“Sh, sh,” Bucky runs a hand over Steve’s head. “Don’t strain yourself.”_ _

__Steve shakes his head though and opens his mouth again. Lips trembling, he’s trying desperately to say something. Bucky leans down. Puts his ear right by Steve’s mouth._ _

__It’s a struggle, but Steve manages to get something out._ _

__“I… I’m… s-sorry… Bucky…”_ _

__“Oh, husband, it’s okay,” Bucky assures him. No time for that now. Steve needs to save his strength. “Dr. Banner is on the way. So are Peggy and your parents. You’re going to be okay.”_ _

__Face crumpling, Steve takes as much of a grip on Bucky’s hand as he can manage._ _

__“Hurts,” he whispers. “It hurts…”_ _

__“I know.” Only he doesn’t know. Not really. Not pain like this. The suffering that Steve’s probably secretly been dreading his whole life. Bucky glances up at Sam. “Can you help me get him off the floor?”_ _

__At first, Sam doesn’t respond. He’s still just staring at Steve. There are tears trapped behind his eyes. They’re not falling, but they keep on gathering._ _

__Bucky reaches over to take hold of Sam’s shoulder. Seems to grab his attention that way._ _

__“Hey, Sam, I need your help. We need to get him off the floor. Can you help me?”_ _

__“Oh…” Sam blinks and then nods. “Yes. Of course. I’m… oh shit, I’m sorry, Bucky, I just…”_ _

__“Don’t worry about it.” Not now. There’s no time for that now. “Let’s just…”_ _

__Both of them get a grip under Steve’s shoulders and gently lift him up. In true Steve fashion, he tries to help. All he can manage is scraping his feet along the floor before flopping over towards Sam._ _

__Their first thought is to bring him to the sofa of the front room. But anyone can see them if they peer in through the windows. Bucky can’t take that chance so they bring him into the drawing room on the other end of the house. He’ll be sure to draw the curtains later. Just in case._ _

__Just the fact that Sam was able to get him home all the way from the park by himself says so much about the man’s strength. Steve is, by no means, a light man. By the time they get him onto the sofa, Steve is passed out again and both Bucky and Sam need to catch their breaths._ _

__The wheezing is worse when Steve is laying flat on his back so Bucky makes sure to prop him up. Steve is trembling. Or maybe that’s just Bucky. Steve’s lips are so, so white. He barely even looks alive._ _

__“What… what happened, Sam?” Bucky asks. His voice barely able to reach that of a whisper._ _

__“I…” Sam’s brow ruffles. He’s probably already told Bucky this, but the sounds coming from Steve had taken over. They’re close to doing so again. It sounds painful and Bucky wishes he could take the pain from Steve. “I’m not sure. Everything was fine and then he just… couldn’t breathe. He collapsed and I… dragged him back. We didn’t get very far into our run, thank goodness.” Sam pauses and then adds, “There weren’t many people out. I don’t think anyone noticed.”_ _

__Bucky knows enough of the world they live in that he should take comfort in that. No one seeing them means no questions asked. But right now the world can kiss his ass. He doesn’t care about what Society will think if they find out. Let them drag their names and marriage through the mud. He’ll gladly be the sacrificial lamb for all their wrongdoings as a married couple in High Society as long as Steve is okay._ _

__All he cares about is seeing Steve through this… whatever this is. For him to open his eyes and to breathe right and to have color back to his skin and…_ _

__The knocking on the door makes them both jump. An urgent, relentless noise that fills the whole house._ _

__“That’ll be Peggy,” Sam guesses and hurries off to let her in._ _

__“Steve,” Bucky murmurs into his husband’s ear. “Peggy’s here. Can you open your eyes again? To see Peggy?”_ _

__He doesn’t get much of a response. A grunting noise that may or may not be anything other than Steve’s body in more pain._ _

__The sounds of Peggy’s heels on the hardwood floors are hectic as she races into the drawing room. Each click, click, click the sound of fear escaping her body. She takes one glance at Steve and sheds out of her coat right there in the doorway. Lets it fall to the floor and hurries over to the sofa._ _

__“Steven?” She says softly before placing her ear on his chest. Peggy’s not leaning on him though. She keeps her weight off him. “Has he been awake at all?”_ _

__“For a minute or so,” Bucky answers. “He… he couldn’t focus much. He only…”_ _

__“Bucky, has he been taking his medications?” Peggy asks._ _

__“Yes. Everyday.”_ _

__Peggy nods and straightens up. Whatever she heard rattling around in Steve’s chest has her motivated to do something. That something leads her out of the room._ _

__“Where’re you going?” Sam asks._ _

__“The kitchen. Just try to keep him still and comfortable.”_ _

__She’s not gone long. Only about five minutes. Even if that quick time seems an eternity. Everything is still and silent around Bucky. Sam might be pacing back and forth, but it makes no difference. He can’t see him, can’t hear him. Bucky just focuses on Steve._ _

__In that short bit of time between Peggy leaving and returning, Bucky notices something. Every minute or so, Steve’s breathing returns to normal. He can suck in big gulps of the oxygen he so badly needs before his lungs seem to close off again. Maybe that’s the only reason he’s still alive._ _

__Peggy’s come back in with a bowl in her hands. Without a word, she dips her fingers into whatever she’s brought back with her and smears it along Steve’s chest._ _

__“What’re you doing?” Bucky asks. “What is that?”_ _

__While Bucky’s quite certain that Peggy would never do anything to harm Steve, he doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on. For all he knows, what she’s doing might cause him some sort of discomfort. Burn along his skin or something._ _

__“It’s mustard oil,” she says. “Mixed with a bit of camphor. Heated up. It can… help with his breathing.”_ _

__“Is this an asthma attack, Peg?” Sam questions._ _

__“It… looks like it.” Peggy’s massaging that concoction all over Steve’s chest and throat. “He hasn’t had one since he was a kid. Dunno if he still has his old inhaler or even any of his asthma cigarettes, but I knew Truvie would make sure to have this.”_ _

__“Will it work?” Bucky asks._ _

__Peggy shrugs._ _

__“Better than nothing.” She taps one of Steve’s fingers. When she does that, Bucky realizes he’s still holding onto his husband’s hand. “This was a bad one. See his fingernails?”_ _

__Both he and Sam look to see what she’s talking about. Neither of them had noticed, or thought to look since they’ve never experienced such a thing. Steve’s fingernails are starting to turn blue. Very light, but it’s there._ _

__The mixture that Peggy’s spread across Steve’s chest does seem to help a little. Those dreadful noises, the wheezing, it dies down within moments._ _

__“Steven?” Peggy says. A soft, gentle tone. “Steve?”_ _

__All eyes land on Steve. He doesn’t wake, doesn’t even stir, but his mouth slowly closes and he starts breathing through his nose. No longer is he trying so hard to suck in the air he needs._ _

__That’s a good sign. It has to be. When Bucky looks back at Peggy for that confirmation -- the confirmation he so badly needs -- he can see what she’s not said. Thoughts that have passed through her mind that she won’t bring herself to say. He shares a glance with Sam. Sam can see that, too._ _

__“What is it?” Bucky asks. “What are you not telling us?”_ _

__Something is wrong. Something other than the obvious. Steve’s breathing might be a bit more even now, but there’s more worry creeping along her face now. A fog sneaking in unexpectedly during the eye of the storm._ _

__“Peggy, please.” Bucky’s not above begging. He’ll get down on his hands and knees and pray to a Lord he doesn’t believe in and plead until his lungs give out for an answer. He just can’t take the silence. Silence and Peggy just staring at Steve. Everyone is just staring at him. Nobody's _doing_ anything. “Lady Carter, I beg of you… tell me what you see that we don’t.”_ _

__Peggy’s eyes are bloodshot when she shifts her gaze from Steve to Bucky. Tears that build and wither away before they can fall._ _

__“Something’s wrong,” she whispers. “Something more than just asthma.”_ _

__That’s not the answer he can take. No. No Bucky won’t accept that. This is just… Steve’s not been well. Taken some illness that will pass. It’s just unexpected. That’s all._ _

__“What?” Sam asks the question Bucky can’t bring himself to. “What else is it?”_ _

__“I don’t… I don’t know,” Peggy replies. Touching Steve’s forehead with the back of her hand. “He’s burning up. So pale. His cheeks are thinner. Has he lost weight, Bucky?”_ _

__“Um, I… I don’t… think so?”_ _

__But now that it’s been pointed out to him, Bucky’s actually quite positive of the answer. Yes. Steve has lost weight. Lost to a cruel, vicious thief that’s come in unnoticed during carefree days to suck the life right out of his husband. And Bucky hadn’t seen it._ _

__“He hasn’t eaten,” Bucky whispers. “Not today. Shouldn’t I…?”_ _

__“I took the liberty of turning your stove off,” Peggy responds. “Sam, would you come with me to the kitchen? Help get a plate ready?” Sam nods and gets to his feet. “Bucky, be gentle, but see if you can get him to stir.”_ _

__They’re off before Bucky can even reply. Bucky leans in close and whispers to Steve again. Jostles his shoulder a bit while asking if he can wake up._ _

__Steve’s breathing is still improving, even if nothing else looks better. That sunken face and paleness. But this time, Steve squeezes his eyes tighter and then they flutter open. Land on Bucky. Bucky tries to grin._ _

__“Steve? Can you hear me?” His husband nods, but can’t manage to get anything out. Bucky doesn’t try to make him. “That’s okay. You don’t have to talk. We’re gonna get some food in you, okay?”_ _

__That actually makes Steve look even more sick. As though the thought of putting anything into his stomach causes him to feel worse._ _

__“You need to eat something, husband,” Bucky tells him. Gently swipes sweat-soaked hair away from Steve’s brow. “Just a little bit. Steve, are you nauseous?” Steve nods. “Does anything hurt?” Steve lifts his hand -- weak and trembling -- and lays it upon his chest. “Your chest hurts. Okay. Do you feel dizzy?”_ _

__Steve’s eyes close and for a second Bucky thinks he’s losing him again. Before Bucky has the chance to panic, they open again and Steve nods. So he’s dizzy, too. He’s probably feeling so much more than that, but Bucky can’t think of anything else to ask. He should know this though. That much he’s sure of. This way if Steve’s not awake when Bruce finally gets here, Bucky can tell him these things._ _

__“Um, okay, is there… anything else you can tell me?”_ _

__For a second, Steve looks even more helpless than before. He’s biting his jaw tight to keep from crying, but it’s useless. One tears rolls out and Steve opens his mouth. There’s no voice, Steve’s too weak to get it out, but the words are clear. _I love you_._ _

__“Don’t you do that,” Bucky scolds. “You’re going to be fine. You--”_ _

__Blood running cold, Bucky watches in horror as Steve’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Steve’s jaw tenses and tightens. Foam froths at his mouth and his entire body starts to convulse._ _

__“Steve!” Bucky shouts. Catches Steve right before he’d fall from the sofa and crashes to the floor with him instead._ _

__Something shatters on the floor. Glass breaking. Someone else shouts and both Peggy and Sam are at his sides. Steve’s body jerks about. Harsh and violent._ _

__“Move the sofa!” Bucky cries out when Steve’s hand keeps slamming up against the leg of it._ _

__Sam rushes to do that while Peggy goes to grab onto Steve’s arms as if she means to hold him still._ _

__“No don’t!” Bucky instructs. “You’ll hurt him or he’ll hurt you. Just… it’ll pass. It will. It will.”_ _

__Bucky goes on to mutter that over and over as Steve continues to seize. He swats Sam’s hands away when he tries to put a fork into Steve’s mouth under the idea it will keep him from biting or swallowing his tongue. Tells them to keep their hands away from his mouth. Bucky’s seen patients have seizures at the hospital while he was working._ _

__It had been his hopes to learn medical procedures. To maybe even one day become a medical assistant. They said no. He wasn’t allowed. Because of his arm. His fucking metal arm disqualifies him from ever learning such skills. Words like untrustworthy and too broken were tossed around._ _

__Now Bucky has to sit and watch as his husband has this horrible seizure. Helpless. All because no one would risk teaching him._ _

__Time feels too long. Everything’s moving so much slower. Sluggish and reluctant to pick up the pace._ _

__The seizure only lasts about a minute. For Bucky, it feels like hours. Hours and hours watching his husband’s body jerk about uncontrollably. Secretions and a bit of vomit drooling out of his mouth and nose. His pants soaked with urine. But it stops. The shaking, the clenching, the gasping. Everything settles and Steve’s head simply rests in Bucky’s lap. His breaths quick and shallow._ _

__“We need to…” Bucky needs to clear his throat. Sam and Peggy are staring at him. Both look ready to be ill. “We need to turn him onto his side.” Each of them gently take hold of Steve and roll him._ _

__Bucky runs his eyes over his husband. Steve’s out again. Legs curled into his body. Hands tucked tightly to his chest._ _

__“I need one of you to go upstairs,” Bucky requests quietly. “Go upstairs and get some clean clothes. And if someone could fetch the water basin and pitcher from the upstairs restroom?”_ _

__“Bucky, why don’t you take a minute--”_ _

__“No.” Bucky’s not even sure who’s made the suggestion. Both of them may have been saying the same thing. Or sharing the same sentiments in different ways. He says calmly, “I need to clean up my husband. Please, help me.”_ _

__Neither of them respond and Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve. But he knows that they’ve gone off to fetch what he’s asked for. Bucky cradles Steve’s head in his lap. Knows that it might take him a few minutes to come around again. If they can rouse him at all._ _

__“Steve,” Bucky whispers when they’re alone. “Don’t do this to me. Please, don’t leave me.”_ _

__Sam is back first with the water basin and pitcher. The pitcher is filled with warm water and he was kind enough to remember a washcloth and soap. He offers to help Bucky, but Bucky only allows him to assist with removing Steve’s soiled clothes. That alone takes enough effort for the two of them._ _

__Peggy returns shortly after with fresh clothing. It’s pair of Steve’s pajamas. The blue ones. Bucky bought them for him. Steve says they’re his favorite._ _

__There’s a slight chill in the air, so Bucky knows he needs to make this fast. He pours water over the washcloth and runs it over Steve’s mouth, cheeks, chin. Bucky moves the cloth all along Steve’s body. Rinses it the cloth out over the basin and uses more fresh water when he needs to and is sure to pat him dry after wetting each area._ _

__Bucky takes care to get Steve as clean as possible. He cleans out his hair and the palms of his hands. There are abrasions across Steve’s skin. Bucky wonders if he managed to catch himself before hitting the ground when he fell._ _

__When Bucky’s dressing Steve in the new clothes, there’s another knock on the door. Bucky can only hope with all his soul that Dr. Banner has finally arrived. Someone who can make some sense of all this._ _

__Peggy goes off to answer the door while Sam assists in lifting Steve up for Bucky so that he can get the clothes on easier._ _

__“Are the Lord and Lady Rogers on their way?”_ _

__“Yes. They were contacted about thirty minutes ago.”_ _

__That would be Peggy returning with Bruce. The doctor hustles into the room with them and drops his bag right next to Steve._ _

__“When was the last time he was alert?”_ _

__Bruce crouches down next to Steve’s body. He’s rummaging through his bag and pulling out a stethoscope. Shoving the earpieces in his ears quickly, Bruce holds the cone-shaped piece against Steve’s chest. He moves the piece from place to place and asks questions as he does._ _

__When did this happen? What happened right beforehand? Has he eaten anything? How has he been the past few days? What was he like when he was up and awake?_ _

__Between Bucky and Sam, they’re able to answer all the questions. Peggy tells him about the asthma attack and that it was different than those she’s seen in the past. Bruce nods as though he agrees._ _

__“His lungs still aren’t functioning as normal and his heart is racing,” he says. “Lord Barnes, he’s been taking his medicines, yes?”_ _

__“Yes, yes,” Bucky answers. “Everyday. But he’s not really been eating all that well. And he’s been tired lately.”_ _

__“Is it…” Sam’s voice cracks. “Is it not working?”_ _

__Moving on to Steve’s blood pressure, Bruce is wrapping the cuff around Steve’s arm._ _

__“I don’t…” he sighs and shakes his head as he squeezes the pump. “I don’t see _how_. The medicines are designed _specifically_ to his own DNA. _His_ body.” Bruce mutters a soft swear and releases the air out of the cuff around Steve’s arm. “His blood pressure is sky high.”_ _

__He’s going through his bag again. This time, Bruce pulls out another, smaller bag. Like a pouch with a copper latch. Bruce opens it and Bucky feels lightheaded at the sight of what’s inside. Little vials of medications and one, very large glass syringe. Bruce pulls out a needle and attaches it to the right end. He selects one of the vials and fills the syringe with whatever’s in it._ _

__“What is that?” Bucky asks. “What’re you giving my husband?”_ _

__“This…” Bruce pays close attention to what he’s doing. Flicks the tube twice and releases the air from the needle. “Is nitroglycerin.” Bucky doesn’t watch as Bruce sticks the needle into Steve’s arm and pushes the plunger in. “It will dilate Steve’s blood vessels. Steady his heart and bring his pressure down.”_ _

__By the movements Bucky can see out of the corner of his eyes, he assumes Bruce is all finished with that. Only the doctor is filling the syringe _again_. This time, Bucky doesn’t need to ask. _ _

__“This is epinephrine,” Bruce explains. “Adrenaline. This one will help with his breathing.”_ _

__This time, Bruce readies the needle at Steve’s thigh. He warns everyone to back away. That Steve might jerk awake very harshly. Bucky moves no more than a few inches and, like Bruce said, Steve sucks in a rough, hard breath just a second after Bruce empties the stuff into his body._ _

__Steve’s eyes pop open and he tries to shoot up, only to sway a bit to one side and fall over again. He’s shaking and looking frantically at everyone in the room._ _

__“P-Peggy…” he whimpers. Then looks to Sam. “Sam? What… what’s…” Steve shakes his head. Quick, fevered shakes as though he’s trying desperately to understand. “It…” His eyes find Bruce. “It hurts… my chest… Bruce…”_ _

__“I know, Steve,” Bruce puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve given you something that should…”_ _

__Steve cuts him off with a groan. He’s reaching out for Peggy who kneels next to him and hugs him close._ _

__“What’s happening to me?” he whispers. “I… I feel so…”_ _

__He doesn’t go on with his statement. There are probably so many things he feels that he can’t properly articulate them. But he’s gazing over at Bucky now. Brow knit with confusion. Fright in the stitches._ _

__He whispers to Peggy, “Why is Lord Barnes here?”_ _

__The question is a swift kick to Bucky’s gut. Steve is staring at him like they’ve never once interact. A face in the crowd he knows only by reputation._ _

__Peggy pulls back and looks from Steve, to Bucky, to Steve again. She touches Steve’s face gently._ _

__“That… Steve,” Sam says quietly. “Bucky is your husband.”_ _

__“Husband?” Steve shakes his head. His body quivering. His eyes closing. “No… I’m not…”_ _

__Face buried in Peggy’s shoulder, Steve starts mumbling that he’s not married. His words are slurred and stuttered. As though he’s falling asleep while his body continues to tremble._ _

__All Bucky can feel is the horror that washes through him. He wants to scream. To tell Steve that they’ve been married for six months. That he loves him. He’s Steve’s Sweetheart. Bucky is his and he’s Bucky’s._ _

__This can’t be happening. Steve can’t have truly forgotten him. It’s just not possible._ _

__“S-Steve?” Bucky whimpers. “You-you remember me, don’t you? Your husband. I play piano for you. I sing to you. You… you hold me and you…” He can’t say that he paints for him. “You dance with me and you spoil me. I… I love you, husband.”_ _

__Steve hasn’t lifted away from Peggy. He holds onto her and shakes his head. Asks for his parents. Tells her he doesn’t understand what’s happening. All the while ignoring Bucky._ _

__“Bucky,” Bruce whispers. “It’s okay. It’s normal for someone to be confused and disoriented after even a small seizure. It should pass.”_ _

__Should pass. It _should_ pass. What if it doesn’t? What if Steve can’t remember him? If the fever he’s running has cooked all memories of their marriage to a crisp and he never remembers him? The thought is terrifying. _ _

___He’ll remember_ , his heart tries to sooth. _He will_._ _

___But what if he doesn’t? _Bucky asks. _What if… what if…___ _ _

____So many what ifs run through his mind. What matters most is Bruce getting Steve healthy again. But Bucky’s stomach turns at the thought of Steve not knowing him. If he doesn’t remember loving him. It’s not like Bucky can just remind him of that. Just _tell_ Steve that he loves him. It doesn’t work that way. _ _ _ _

____Bucky will just… have to remind him. That’s all. Steve fell in love with him once, right? He can… again. Bucky will take care of his husband. Help him in anyway he needs. And if Steve doesn’t fall in love with him so be it. Bucky will stay by his side unless he’s ordered away._ _ _ _

____Still on the floor, Bruce is checking Steve’s heartbeat and breathing again, while asking Steve questions. Simple questions since Steve seems to have difficulty with more complex ones. He can’t remember the last thing he ate -- Bucky knows it was a small piece of chicken and a scoop of rice last night during supper -- or what he was doing before he woke up here, but he can tell Bruce that he’s dizzy. His hands and feet are tingling and cold. That he’s nauseous and his chest still hurts._ _ _ _

____All the while Steve fights to keep his head from slumping off of Peggy’s shoulder. His body is still shaking so much and there’s still no color to his lips or cheeks. Steve’s breathing is still weak and shallow._ _ _ _

____“P-Peggy?” Steve whispers. Tries to turn look up at her, but needs Peggy’s help to do so. “Where… Bucky… where’s my Bucky?”_ _ _ _

____Joy fills Bucky to the brim. So much of it he can burst. He can’t even reply at first._ _ _ _

____“I’m right here, Stevie,” he says._ _ _ _

____Hears the elation in his own voice. Bruce was right. Steve remembers him. Knows him. Wants him. Bucky moves closer when Steve tries to turn his head in the direction of his voice. Once again needing Peggy’s help to do so._ _ _ _

____As soon as Steve sees him a smile breaks across his face. Pretty as sunlight, even now. Steve holds a shaky hand out and tries to move closer to him on his own. Nearly falling out of Peggy’s arms doing so._ _ _ _

____“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky murmurs as he scoops his husband up before he falls again. “It’s okay, husband. I’m here.”_ _ _ _

____Steve is shivering. Hard enough that his teeth rattle together. Even through all his clothes, Bucky can feel how high his fever is._ _ _ _

____“Cold,” Steve breathes. “I’m cold, Bucky.”_ _ _ _

____“Can we get him off the floor?” Bucky asks. “Bruce, he’s cold.”_ _ _ _

____Bruce nods as he continues pulling things out of his bag. A part of Bucky wants to shake him. Shake him until he fixes Steve._ _ _ _

____“Get him to the sofa,” Bruce instructs. “But someone needs to stay by him the whole time. He might have another seizure. We should get him some food, too.”_ _ _ _

____They do that. Sam and Bucky. Lift Steve up again and lower him onto the soft cushions of the sofa. Steve groans the second he’s lifted. Gasps for breath when he’s laying down again._ _ _ _

____Peggy’s gone off to fix another plate of food, while Sam takes to picking up the mess on the other end of the room. The dish and food that one of them had dropped earlier. Without waiting to be told, Bucky retrieves the wet cloth drying over the water basin. Cool to the touch now, Bucky pats it against Steve’s forehead. His husband shudders under it._ _ _ _

____“S’cold,” he whimpers. “Please don’t…”_ _ _ _

____“Husband, you’re running a fever. I have to.”_ _ _ _

____Steve whimpers, but makes no other objections. He opens and closes his hands several times and from within his socks, Bucky can see that he keeps balling his toes._ _ _ _

____When Peggy comes back with the food, Steve’s only able to eat a little of it. After some prompting. Bruce tells him he needs it so that he can draw blood. Which is probably what all the glass tubes he’s taken out are for. Since Steve takes hold of Bucky’s free hand, Peggy feeds him a bit of the porridge Bucky was sure he’d ruined while Sam helps him drink a glass of water._ _ _ _

____Morning passes over them. Bruce takes the blood he needs and Steve is unable to keep what little food he ate down for long. Sam keeps making him drink the water. Promises it will help. Light in the room shifts and gets brighter. It reminds Bucky that he still needs to close the curtains in the front room. Every second that ticks away feels like a countdown. To what, Bucky’s not sure._ _ _ _

____Within the hour, Steve’s sleeping again and Truvie’s arrived for work only to stumble upon them all in the drawing room with no warning. Bucky tells her she doesn’t have to stay. That she’ll still be paid for the day’s work regardless._ _ _ _

____“Beggin’ your pardon, m’Lord,” she says to that. “But I helped raise Lord Rogers. If it’s alright with you, I’d prefer to stay.”_ _ _ _

____There’s no discussion to be had or argument to be made. Truvie loves Steve. Has cared for him since he was a child. Family. She’s part of the family. Bucky agrees and asks if she wouldn’t mind shutting all the curtains. She does as requested and then sets to work straight away, using a wet rag to physically wipe away as much of the dust in the room as she can. Says it can help with his breathing. Bruce agrees. He even asks her to make a phone call to the House of Ross._ _ _ _

____“If you wouldn’t mind requesting Lady Ross’s presence?” He asks while preparing Steve’s blood on glass slides. Bruce may not have come into anything he ever expected, but he’s certainly prepared. “Just ask her to bring the files. She’ll know which ones.” Bruce then pauses and turns an unsure eye to Bucky. “If… if that’s alright with you, Lord Barnes.”_ _ _ _

____Technically, this decision doesn’t even really fall to Bucky. Not legally. Steve is his headship. In any event he can’t make a proper decision regarding the House, protocol says that Bucky should fall back to the Head of the House. Lord Joseph Rogers. They all know it, but none of them seem to care._ _ _ _

____“Whatever will get Steve better,” he replies._ _ _ _

____“I could use her help,” Bruce comments. “She knows the study of blood better than me. Understands it, even.”_ _ _ _

____“If it will help, get her here fast.”_ _ _ _

____Truvie sets off then to make that call._ _ _ _

____Then they’re left with nothing but the wait. The wait for Sarah and Joseph. For Lady Ross. For Bruce to study what he can to figure out what’s happening. He maintains that the medicines shouldn’t be doing this. He’s brewed it by hand and for years. No one ever touches the material to make it other than he or Lady Ross._ _ _ _

____Another hour melts away. A long, gruelling hour that doesn’t lessen anyone’s worry, least of all Bucky’s._ _ _ _

____They try to get Steve to eat some more. Much to Bucky’s surprise, Steve adamantly refuses. Not being fed. Not the help to drink. He refuses wholeheartedly to have anything to do with the food they’ve brought him. He even flings the plate away with what little strength he has when it’s near him. Infuriated by it. He only eats some bread when they stop asking and Peggy simply _tells_ him he needs to eat it. _ _ _ _

____Steve’s fever flares and they resort to opening windows to let the cold winter air in and pat him down with several cool cloths. He whimpers and squirms the entire time. Keeps asking them to stop as though he doesn’t understand why they’re forcing cold temperatures on him. The earlier agitation completely gone. Leaving fear and confusion in its wake._ _ _ _

____“Please, Bucky,” he whimpers. The voice of a broken child. So lost and confused. “I don’t like it.”_ _ _ _

____“I know, husband, I know.” Bucky combs finger through Steve’s hair. Still running the cool cloth over him with the other. “But this will help.”_ _ _ _

____Eventually, Steve falls back to sleep and Bucky asks Bruce why he’s so disoriented. This isn’t the Steve he knows. Steve would stubbornly refuse the help, sure, but he’d not be mean about it. Steve would insist he could do it himself and try, only accepting the assistance if he really couldn’t do it._ _ _ _

____Instead, his glassy eyes simply fill with tears and his bottom lip quivers as glances about the room with increasing confusion and fright._ _ _ _

____“It’s the fever,” Bruce explains. “And he hasn’t eaten much, so he might have low blood sugar.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky stays at Steve’s side the whole time. Refuses to leave. He’ll be here whenever Steve opens his eyes. Peggy paces about the room. Sometimes helping Truvie, other times looking over Bruce’s shoulder. Sam’s attached himself to Bruce as the doctor goes over Steve’s blood samples. Fetching this tool and that bottle, pouring this liquid into that jar._ _ _ _

____While Steve is still sleeping, Sarah and Joseph arrive. When Sarah races into the drawing room, her skin is white as a sheet. She takes one look at her son. And fury blazes across her face._ _ _ _

____“Dr. Banner, what is wrong with my son?”_ _ _ _

____She’s seething. Mouth clenched and fists tight. Even now, with her body so sick and frail from her own illness, she looks threatening. Ready to tear down anyone who gets the way of helping her son._ _ _ _

____Bruce holds his palms out to Sarah as if trying to remind her he’s not the cause of this. Right now, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped dead just from her vicious glare alone._ _ _ _

____“Sarah, I’m not… sure. I’m still--”_ _ _ _

____“No!” Her shouts echo through the room. Reverberating off the walls like disembodied voice. Angry and desperate. “Not like this. He’s _not_ going to die like this. You can’t let him! I’m supposed to go _first_!” Joseph whispers her name and tries to put his hands on her shoulders. She shakes him off. “I’m ready! Not him, not my son.”_ _ _ _

____Her frantic words continue to stumble out of her mouth and for the first time since seeing Steve on the floor of their front room, Bucky realizes how terrified he’s been. Truly, to the depth of his soul terrified. Steve really might die. No more perfect words. No more sweet touches. No more Steve. Sunlight forever darkened._ _ _ _

____As Sarah goes on pleading with Bruce, _demanding_ that he do something for her son, Bucky rises from his spot next to Steve and walks up to her. At first, she doesn’t seem to notice, but when he’s standing right in front of her, her face crumples. The words dry up and tears fall from her eyes. Bucky gently puts his arms around her and pulls her into a tight hug. _ _ _ _

____“It’s okay,” he whispers. Even though he has no idea if that’s true. He’s much too afraid to think of the alternative. “He’s going to be okay.”_ _ _ _

____Now Joseph takes that one step to bring himself right behind her. The second Sarah feels her husband’s presence, she peels away from Bucky and throws herself into his embrace._ _ _ _

____“Sarah,” Joseph says. “We need to be strong for him. We’ve been through this before.”_ _ _ _

____“It was supposed to be over,” she whispers. “I promised him. I promised him he’d never have to go through this again.”_ _ _ _

____“And we need to be here for him now.”_ _ _ _

____Such a thought seems to be enough to make Sarah compose herself. With one last sniffle, she moves out of Joseph’s embrace, wipes her eyes and nods. Just like that. The near hysterics disappear and Sarah moves for Steve’s side._ _ _ _

____Sam is quicker than Bucky in thinking to drag one of the armchairs over for her. This whole time, Bucky’s just been sitting on the edge of the couch. Half on, half off. Sarah wouldn’t be able to do that. Not in her condition._ _ _ _

____“How long has he been like this?” Joseph asks._ _ _ _

____Bruce answers, “Almost three hours. He’s been asleep for about sixty minutes. It might be a good idea to try to wake him.”_ _ _ _

____His suggestion sounds heavenly. Must be to Sarah, too, since she looks more relieved than ever to even have the chance. It takes a few tries. Gentle shakes and soft murmurs of Steve’s name. He starts to wake._ _ _ _

____Steve weakly lifts his chin. Eyes dazed and out of focus. Bucky can only hope that the disorientation hasn’t worsened. He’s not quite sure Sarah can handle it._ _ _ _

_____Just Sarah?_ his gut wonders. _ _ _ _

_____No,_ Bucky answers. _Me too. And…_ His eyes point out everyone else in the room. _All of us_._ _ _ _

____After a bit of struggling, and Steve’s feeble attempts to get himself to a seated position, he finally takes in who’s next to him. He blinks a few times as though trying to figure out if she’s really there or not, but it must click since he grins. Chalky white lips pulling up as best they can._ _ _ _

____“Mama,” he whispers. Voice as weak as he looks. “Mama… you’re… here.”_ _ _ _

____Steve’s hand slips to the edge of the couch and pats it. Looking for something. Sarah must know. She takes his hand and kisses the top of it._ _ _ _

____“I’m here, angel. Of course I’m here.”_ _ _ _

____“Dad too?”_ _ _ _

____“Right here, Steve,”_ _ _ _

____Joseph is behind the sofa. He puts his hand on his son’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. Bucky’s sure when Joseph’s hand lifts to his eyes it’s to brush away tears._ _ _ _

____“Mama,” Steve whimpers. “Mama, I don’t… feel…”_ _ _ _

____Green passes over Steve’s cheeks. All the muscles in his body tense and Bucky knows what’s coming. He grabs the copper basin Truvie brought in earlier and holds it up for his husband. Just in time for him to heave into._ _ _ _

____Not much comes out. The bit of toast. Bile. Foam. Yet his body continues to heave. Like it’s desperate to rid itself of something awful. Poison that’s seeped deep within him and refuses to leave._ _ _ _

____Sarah rubs her hand over Steve’s back the whole time. Big, muscular Steve, who looks so tiny now. Helpless._ _ _ _

____It takes a few minutes, but the dry heaving passes and Steve’s body settles again. His worn out. Breathless and winded, but he leans back against the pillow behind him--another thing brought in by Truvie--and tries to relax again. Sarah uses the moist cloth to pat the sweat away from his head and Peggy brings a glass of water. Some of it dribbles down Steve’s chin as he tries to drink it. He’s at least able to rinse his mouth out. Spitting the dirty water into the basin Bucky’s still holding,_ _ _ _

____“There you go, angel,” Sarah murmurs sweetly. “You know your husband’s here, right? Your Bucky’s taking such good care of you.”_ _ _ _

____Warmth spreads through Bucky’s body at that compliment. That Sarah thinks he’s doing a good job here when Bucky feels as though he’s failing at every turn he takes._ _ _ _

____Steve is able to pull a weak smile on his lips. Eyelids drooped and head too heavy for his neck, Steve still manages to smile._ _ _ _

____“My Bucky,” he whispers. “I love him.”_ _ _ _

____“I love you, Steve,” Bucky says. Reflex. His rule. Always tell Steve when he thinks of it. When he feels it. Bucky always feels it. “I love you.”_ _ _ _

____Then Peggy concurs with what Sarah’s said._ _ _ _

____“He’s been wonderful,” she tells Steve. And Sarah and Joseph. Places a hand on Bucky’s back. “Never panicked.”_ _ _ _

____Never panicked? Bucky? That’s all he’s been feeling. Sheer, absolute panic at the idea of losing Steve._ _ _ _

____He’s about to open his mouth to say such a things when Sam speaks before he can._ _ _ _

____“He’s like a rock,” Sam compliments. “I didn’t know _what_ to do. That’s some swell husband you got there, Steve.”_ _ _ _

____“Luckiest… son of a… gun in the… in the world,” Steve gets out. “That’s… me.”_ _ _ _

____There’s a sparkle in Steve’s eyes. Even under all the haze and fog it’s there. A star through nighttime clouds._ _ _ _

____The two of them go on to praise him. Words like strong and brave and level-headed. Even Bruce nods in agreement. Sarah and Joseph start to thank him. Tell Bucky that they’re forever grateful for him._ _ _ _

____It all seems so unreal. The compliments and thanks. None of it makes sense. Bucky doesn’t understand. Don’t they get it? Terror runs through his veins. Washes over him in a downpour of biblical proportions. Yet they talk about him as though he’s some hero._ _ _ _

____Bucky just stands there. Copper pot that’s still dirty clutched in his grip. He mutters something about going to the kitchen to clean it out and heads off to do that._ _ _ _

____Alone in the kitchen, Bucky goes to the sink. Turns the water on and empties the contents of the pot into it. His hands and arms move without the commands of his brain. Bucky can’t think straight. Not with this fear clogging up the way. Making his hands shake so much that the pot he’s trying to wash slips from them and crashes into the sink._ _ _ _

____The noise startles Bucky so much that he backs away, water splashing over the side and onto the floor. Staining the front of his clothes._ _ _ _

____Stepping back up to the sink, he once again tries to wash the pot. He can’t do it. The metal his hand’s made of clinks against the copper handle. Making that noise over and over and over again and Bucky can’t take it._ _ _ _

____Steve might die. Taken away from Bucky in some cruel, twist of fate. Fall in love. Lose everything._ _ _ _

____It’s not fair. Why did Steve make Bucky love him so much? Why couldn’t he have just let him be? Then it wouldn’t matter. The House of Rogers could send him back to the House Barnes if they didn’t want to keep him. Bucky’d just be married off again and it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t make a bit of difference that there was no more Steve Rogers. Because Bucky wouldn’t know what a wonderful person he was. If Steve had just left Bucky to his own devices, Bucky wouldn’t have seen the sun and have to fear the dark now._ _ _ _

____Why did Steve do this to him? Why? Just to have it all snatched away from him again._ _ _ _

____The tears come on swift and hard. A painful punch to Bucky’s stomach that makes him heave into the sink._ _ _ _

____“Don’t take him from me…” he whispers. “I can’t do this again.”_ _ _ _

____Weakness claws at him like a rabid animal and Bucky slides to the floor. Smothers his face with both hands and bawls into his palms. Tears smearing against skin and sliding down metal._ _ _ _

____Bucky sits up against the kitchen counter. Knees pulled up to his chest and heart racing, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough for this. He might be pleading out loud while he blubbers. To anyone that will listen._ _ _ _

____The hand at his shoulder has Bucky nearly leaping out of his own skin. Some sort of yelping noise tries to escape his lungs only to be cut off by a gargled sob. Everything is all blurry, but Bucky’s sure Peggy is crouched in front of him._ _ _ _

____“Please…” he sobs. “Tell me he’s not going to die. Please tell me he’s going to be okay.”_ _ _ _

____The hand resting on his shoulder pets over his head. Soft and comforting. A promise of companionship. Bucky’s not alone. But that’s not the promise Bucky wants right now._ _ _ _

____“Please, Peggy…”_ _ _ _

____Peggy’s face contorts a bit. Feeling pain and trying to keep it from showing. She takes in a deep breath and allows one tear to trail down._ _ _ _

____“He’ll fight,” she answers. All the comfort she can give. “He’s not going to go without a fight.”_ _ _ _

____That only makes Bucky fight back more tears. They come anyway, but he does his best to keep them back._ _ _ _

____“I… I don’t want him to die,” Bucky whispers._ _ _ _

____Peggy takes a long, thoughtful look at him before nodding and letting loose a few more tears of her own. As if she’s found Bucky worthy of seeing her shed them._ _ _ _

____“I don’t either,” she whispers. “But these tears aren’t going to help him.”_ _ _ _

____She’s right. Bucky knows it. The kitchen knows it. The house knows it. Yet they all continue to weep. The walls that know them intimately. The floors that have held them through good times and bad. The ceilings that have kept their secrets. Everything weeps for Steve._ _ _ _

____Neither of them move for several more minutes. Peggy’s still running her hand over Bucky’s head as if doing so gives her comfort. It’s not until someone clears their throat that they notice their no longer alone._ _ _ _

____“Uh, I’m sorry,” Sam says. “I didn’t mean to…” He shuffles his feet and sighs. “He’s asking for you, Bucky.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky nods and practically jumps to his feet. If his husband is asking for him, he needs to get back as quickly as possible._ _ _ _

____“Whoa, whoa, man.” Sam hands land on Bucky’s shoulders. Keep him right there. “You can’t go back in there like this. If Steve sees you like this…”_ _ _ _

____“No, no,” Bucky argues. Even struggles to get out of Sam’s tight hold. “He needs me.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, that’s right,” he agrees. Puts a big, soft hand at the side of Bucky’s face. “He does need you. But if you go in there lookin’ the way you do he’s gonna get upset. Steve’ll think it’s his fault and next thing you know he’s gonna push himself so that you don’t have to worry about him.” He’s right. Steve will do that. “Bucky, Steve is going to be fine.”_ _ _ _

____“Sam…” Peggy tries to interrupt._ _ _ _

____But Sam isn’t having it. Won’t listen to anyone that might dampen his optimism. His certainty that Steve will be well._ _ _ _

____“No.” Sam keeps his eyes on Bucky. His jaw’s clenched as he speaks. “He’s going to get better. That stubborn mule doesn’t have it in him to go this way. But we need to help him get there.” He pats Bucky’s back and wipes moisture from his own eyes. “So, lets all take deep breaths. Bucky, you might want to wash up.”_ _ _ _

____“Here.” Peggy wets a fresh dishrag and hands it over. “I’ll finish with the pot. You two go back in.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky takes the wet cloth and mops it over his tear-streaked face. He wipes it under his nose and under his eyes. All the while taking in deep breaths._ _ _ _

____There’s no feeling of cleansing despite the hard cry. Nothing short of Steve’s clean bill of health will do that. But Bucky no longer feels the pressure to hold onto that person they all thought he was. Some unbreakable hero holding it together inside like a well oiled machine. It’s a relief._ _ _ _

____Once Bucky’s sure he’s cleaned up -- as best as it’s going to get -- he goes with Sam back into the drawing room. He’s surprised to see that Lady Ross has arrived. Sam doesn’t seem phased. Perhaps he already knew she was there._ _ _ _

____She at the writing desk with Dr. Banner. Papers are scattered across it and the both of them have their heads together as they compare what Lady Ross has brought with her, to Bruce’s notes from today._ _ _ _

____“Lady Ross,” Bucky greets. Hand extended as though this is the time for proper manners. It just feels right. A bit of normalcy. Fingers turned down, Lady Ross places her hand in his. “So good of you to come.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course, Lord Barnes. I hope I can help in anyway. And Betty’s fine. Please.”_ _ _ _

____“Thank you,” he says, and would tell her to call him Bucky, but Steve breaks out into a fit of violent coughs. Bucky dashes to his side. “I’m here, husband. I’m here.”_ _ _ _

____Steve’s coughs are wet. Too much fluid in his chest that keeps coming up no matter how hard his body is trying to rid itself of it all. It sounds like it hurts. Bucky holds Steve’s hand through it. When it eases off, Steve drops back down to the pillows and grunts. He looks irritated. Aggravated. Completely done with all of this. So much so that he even goes to get off the sofa._ _ _ _

____“Steven,” Sarah scolds. “What do you think you’re doing?”_ _ _ _

____Several hands land upon Steve’s shoulders and chest to keep him from going any further. Sarah, Joseph, and Sam. All able to push Steve back down with no difficulty. Steve has no strength to fight back._ _ _ _

____“Gotta get up,” he mumbles. Eyes batting as they struggle to remain open. “Move around. I’ll…” Steve takes in a deep breath. Coughs again halfway through. “I’ll feel… feel better.”_ _ _ _

____“You’ll do no such thing,” Bucky shoots back. The words fly out of his mouth like a bite. Fast and hard. “You’re going to make yourself worse. Now just cooperate.”_ _ _ _

____At first it looks like Steve might argue. There’s a deep furrow between his eyes and he doesn’t take his gaze away from Bucky. Almost like a challenge. Bucky accepts that challenge and doesn’t let his eyes fall away. Not until Steve’s expression smooths and he rests his head back against the pillows with a nod. He’s too tired to fight. Doesn’t have it in him._ _ _ _

____“Okay,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”_ _ _ _

____“Shh. It’s okay.” Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. It’s still damp with sweat. He’s not so sure if Steve should have a blanket wrapped so tightly around him, but his husband actually pulls it tighter and shivers. “Rest, husband.”_ _ _ _

____“You’ll…” Steve’s already drifting out again. “You’ll still be here in the morning?”_ _ _ _

____“Always, Steve.” He presses lips to Steve’s temple. Fights back a shudder at Steve’s temperature. “Sleep now,” he whispers to sleeping ears. “And please wake up again.”_ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____The moon kindles the night. Moves it onward despite the eerie sensation that time is standing still. Up in the sky, stars look down upon the world. Twinkling eyes that all focus on one thing._ _ _ _

____“This isn’t good,” Bruce mutters._ _ _ _

____Of course it’s not. Nothing has been good since late last night. When Bucky and Steve made friends with paints and a dusty mattress and a dark room. Nothing’s been right since Bucky opened his eyes this morning and Steve jerked away from him like he’d seen a ghost. Bucky now knows that Steve had been having trouble seeing colors right. He didn’t see the right color in Bucky’s eyes._ _ _ _

____And it just keeps getting worse._ _ _ _

____Now Steve is wrapped in blankets. Sweat soaked yet shivering so hard his teeth chatter. Even in his sleep. He’s had two more seizures and hasn’t been able to keep anything more in his stomach than a half a bowl of broth. His fever’s shot up dangerously high. Enough that Peggy and Sam helped Truvie chip away at the ice blocks in the icebox so they could use them to cool him off quicker. Steve’s breathing’s been on and off shallow and labored all night. That awful wheezing noise picking up again._ _ _ _

____The whole night has been tense. Almost everyone has been silent and still. Especially whenever Steve’s asleep. He doesn’t find comfort in many positions. What little sleep he can get, they allow._ _ _ _

____Sarah is asleep in the armchair she’s been in all night. A blanket tucked sweetly around her by her husband. She’d tried to stay awake longer, but her sick body just wouldn’t allow it. Joseph’s been nodding off here and there from his spot on the floor. Right up against the couch. One hand nestled in Sarah’s the other on his son’s knee._ _ _ _

____After much insisting, Bucky convinced Peggy to go home to be with her family. She only agreed under the terms that she’d be returning at first light. Sam is currently slumped over on the settee across the room. He drifted off just a little while ago._ _ _ _

____Truvie’s elected to stay the night. She was even kind enough to make a light supper for everyone before slipping away to the servants quarters. They don’t have much staff other than her and Stiles, but the rooms are always available for the few workers who do come in for various chores around the place._ _ _ _

____As for Bucky, he’s kept a constant vigil over Steve. Slouched in another armchair pushed right next to the sofa. Anytime he’s even _started_ to fall asleep, he’s startled awake. Thinking Steve is going to slip away while he sleeps. Be carried off by Death without him even knowing. It hurts, and Bucky can’t succumb to any amount of slumber. _ _ _ _

____Most of the quiet noises that _do_ circle about the room come from Bruce and Betty. They’ve been running tests with Steve’s blood mixed with whatever chemicals Bruce has in his bag and those that Betty’s brought. Comparing the results with what they have in Steve’s files. _ _ _ _

____But now Bruce has caught Bucky’s attention. _This isn’t good_. Those words shoot through Bucky like red hot poker. Make his chest tight and head spin. Bucky’s sure he’s the only one who’s heard it, but Sarah suddenly stirs. Even picks her head up to peer around the back of the chair she’s in. _ _ _ _

____“What?” She whispers. “What is it Bruce?”_ _ _ _

____Bruce keeps looking at the mixture in one of the beakers he and Betty have been toying with. Some chemicals mixed with a sample of Steve’s blood. Bruce flicks it several times. Like he’s trying to mix it up more._ _ _ _

____“It’s conclusive, Bruce,” Betty murmurs. “That’s not going to change the results.”_ _ _ _

____“What results?” Sarah asks. Sounds like she can’t figure out how to feel. Neither can Bucky. “What’s going on?”_ _ _ _

____Glancing away from the beaker in his hand, Bruce gives his attention to Sarah. He appears both shocked and unnerved._ _ _ _

____“It’s… well we haven’t figured out what’s causing this yet, but…” He shakes his head. Removes his glasses and rubs his eyes like he might be getting a headache. “Steve’s not, I mean his body, it’s not absorbing vitamins.”_ _ _ _

____Sarah’s face falls in immediate understanding. Her fingers catch over her mouth when she gasps. She looks over at Steve, eyes wide and full of tears. She’s horrified. Only Bucky doesn’t know why._ _ _ _

____“I don’t understand,” he whispers. “What does that mean?”_ _ _ _

____No one answers that. They don’t even acknowledge him. It’s possible no one’s heard Bucky actually voice his question. Sarah just keeps looking at Steve and muttering that she promised him. Promised he’d never have to do it again. Bruce goes on to say they don’t have a choice. It has to be done. All the while Bucky pleads with them to tell him what they’re talking about._ _ _ _

____Their hushed conversation is enough to pull Joseph out of his light sleep and even though he wasn’t part of the original discussion, it only takes him a few moments to be on the same page as Sarah. Bucky _still_ doesn’t know what’s being discussed. He’s only able to deduce that they’ve been through this before. _ _ _ _

____Unable to take it any longer, Bucky shoots out of the chair and exclaims, “Please!” Just loud enough that it yanks Sam out of his sleep. “Please tell me what’s going on.”_ _ _ _

____The silence that follows his outburst is maddening. Especially when everyone sets their sights on him. Bucky’s about to ask again when Sarah sighs._ _ _ _

____“It’s his…” Her eyes close as though somehow she’ll wake up from horrible nightmare when she opens them. “It’s his anemia. His body is starting to shut down.”_ _ _ _

____“Shut down?”_ _ _ _

____It’s Sam who repeats the words. The two that mean one dreadful thing. Steve’s going to die. Slowly. Numbness creeps through Bucky’s bones and he falls back to the chair._ _ _ _

____“Yes, Lord Wilson,” Betty says. “You see, the vitamin Steve’s body is not taking in impacts a number of very important systems in a person’s body. Everything from your DNA to even how happy you feel. Without it… well it’s basically like being a motorcar and having no fuel to power it.”_ _ _ _

____There’s no need to go on. Sam understands. Bucky understands. The whole wretched night shakes with understanding._ _ _ _

____“This must have been going on for at least a few weeks,” Bruce goes on. “A deficiency this severe doesn’t happen overnight.”_ _ _ _

____Weeks. Steve has been ill for weeks and Bucky didn’t know. This has been crawling around inside of his husband. Silently picking apart Steve’s body little by little. Steve is his headship. It’s Bucky’s duty to take care of him._ _ _ _

____Joseph has Sarah in his arms. Looks like she doesn’t have the strength to stand on her own. Bucky’s not sure how much more of this her fragile body is going to be able to take._ _ _ _

____“Then what did he do before the procedure?” Sam asks. Utmost confidence that this isn’t the end. “There must have been something, right? Otherwise he’d have died a long time ago.”_ _ _ _

____To that, there is an answer. One those who know it don’t wish to say. The reason to that becomes obvious an hour later. When there’s a covered platter sitting on the trolley wheeled in from the kitchen and Sarah gently rouses Steve again. It’s a struggle and Steve fights being awake. He grunts and even argues. Tells them to go away and let him sleep. Steve even swats at Sarah as he tries to get her to leave him alone._ _ _ _

____According to Betty, Steve’s current behavior -- his moodiness and grogginess and the fog that has slunk through his mind -- is all due to the lack of the vitamin that he needs. The fever and seizures aren’t helping._ _ _ _

____“Steven, come on, angel.” Sarah retains her patience the whole time. Never loses her cool even though it’d be so easy to. “You need to get up now.”_ _ _ _

____“Leave me alone,” Steve grunts. He tries to turn over to face the back of the couch, but can’t get any further than on his back._ _ _ _

____Joseph gets behind the arm of the couch and shimmies his hands under Steve’s shoulders. Without any warning, he heaves his son up and tells him to listen to Sarah._ _ _ _

____The movements aren’t exactly harsh -- it _is_ enough to startle Bucky -- but it does shock Steve awake. Washes the sleep right out of him and Steve blinks a few times as he tries to focus on Sarah. He looks so confused. Frightened. Bucky longs to hold him. Wrap an arm around his waist and kiss him and just make everything all better. _ _ _ _

____“M-Mom?” Steve holds his head in the palms of his hands. “W-what’s going…” The question gets cut off by a miserable groan. He leans against the back of the couch and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m so… so dizzy.”_ _ _ _

____“I know, Steve,” Sarah says. Tone soft and gentle. “Honey, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” Steve smacks his lips together. They’re dry and starting to chap. But then he nods. “Honey, Bruce and Betty have… well, they’ve figured something out.” She speaks slowly. Picking her words very carefully as she prepares to tell Steve what’s going on. “Your… it’s your anemia, honey.”_ _ _ _

____Steve’s eyes fly open. They’re already swimming with fear as his face pinches with disgust. He turns his face away and just shakes his head._ _ _ _

____“No,” he whispers. “You promised.”_ _ _ _

____“I know, angel,” Sarah replies. She reaches for the platter on the trolley and lifts the cover to reveal the raw liver piled there. “But you need it. It’ll help.”_ _ _ _

____But Steve just keeps refusing. Every bit of logic that Sarah gives him he shoots down with an indignant huff. Says no. He won’t. Not again. Even Joseph tries to reason with him to no avail. No matter what they say, Steve won’t budge. After a few tries, Steve even closes his eyes and blatantly ignores them. Not even Sam’s voice of reason gets through to him. Steve just sits there. Arms pinned to his chest and eyes shut. Not saying a word._ _ _ _

____Helplessness descends upon Bucky as he watches them try to convince Steve to eat the liver. If he won’t listen to his loving parents and his best friend -- who he’s known for years and years -- Bucky can’t imagine he’ll listen to him. Not now. If Steve’s parents and his best friend -- someone he loved way before falling in love with Bucky -- can’t convince him, what shot does Bucky have?_ _ _ _

____Steve’s talked about the liver he had to eat as a child. He’s never come out and said it, but Bucky knows this has been a fear of his. Having to do this very thing. Eat the food he detests the most. Food that contains painful and powerful memories. And now all Bucky can do is stand here and watch as his husband come face to face with that very fear._ _ _ _

____“Steven, this is not the way I raised you,” Sarah says. “You don’t give up. My son doesn’t give up.” That makes Steve flinch. A visible reaction that has Sarah picking up a chunk of liver. “Please, Steve.”_ _ _ _

____Steve’s lip quivers. He pulls his arms tightly around his body and shakes his head again. No longer completely ignoring, but not complying either._ _ _ _

____It’s the look on Sarah’s face that does it for Bucky. That heartbroken, defeated look pushes him forward. Has him reaching for the piece of meat that’s fallen from Sarah’s hand and holding it out to his husband._ _ _ _

____“Open your mouth, Steve,” he demands. “You can’t do this to your mother. Or to your father.” A hand touches his arm. Bucky’s not sure who it is. “You can’t do this Sam or to Peggy.” Steve’s gaze flicks up at him. There’re tears in his eyes. “You don’t get…” A shudder runs down Bucky’s spine. Cold and uncomfortable. “You don’t get to make me fall in love with you and then just leave me without trying to stay.” A tear crawls down Steve’s face. Mirrors the one rolling down Bucky’s. “You promised, husband. You promised you’d take care of me. And you promised to let me take care of you. Now open your mouth.”_ _ _ _

____The night holds its breath around them all when Steve lifts his chin in Bucky’s direction. Eyes wet and wide, Bucky can see the silent pleading within them. Steve’s lips continue to tremble and for a second Bucky feels nothing but utter failure. Until those lips begin to part. Slow and hesitant and with a whimper rolling off them. He’s shaking, but he still opens his mouth and let’s Bucky slip the chunk of raw liver onto his tongue._ _ _ _

____Steve’s entire face crumples in torment as soon as he starts to chew. A sob breaks through his chest. Still, the relief that shoots through Bucky is immeasurable. A thousands suns returning after years and years of darkness. Behind Bucky, he knows that Sarah has clung onto Joseph while Sam quickly brings a glass of water to Steve’s mouth. Steve chugs almost the whole thing. Likely trying to wash the taste and evidence from his mouth._ _ _ _

____There’s a glass pitcher of water that Sam uses to refill the glass since both Bruce and Betty agree that Steve needs to eat all of it._ _ _ _

____“It’s most likely going to come back up,” Bruce comments. “So it’s best to get it all inside of him. This way his body has a chance to soak in as much as possible.”_ _ _ _

____Steve cries the whole time. Whimpers and wordlessly pleads for it to be over. He keeps his eyes closed and after just a few pieces Bucky sits at the edge of the couch and wraps his left arm around his husband. Holds him close as he feeds him the liver. Bit by bit. Praising him the whole time. Through every gag, every sob, every whimper._ _ _ _

____“That’s it, my love,” he whispers. Adding kisses to the side of Steve’s head. “You’re doing so well.”_ _ _ _

____“P-please, Bucky,” Steve whimpers into Bucky’s side when Sam pulls the glass away again. “N-no more. Please don’t make me.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky’s heart is breaking. Shattering into so many pieces that need to be collected and made whole again so he can continue taking care of his husband. There’s nothing he can do about the tears that silently leak out of his eyes. Both hands are occupied. One securing Steve in the most comfort he can provide. The other feeding Steve the thing that causes the need for comfort._ _ _ _

____“Almost done, Stevie,” he assures him. True and not true. There’s a lot more on the plate than anyone would like, but he’s gotten through at least half of it. That’s more than half a pound. “Just a little more.”_ _ _ _

____Steve chokes on a jagged breath and reluctantly opens his mouth again for the piece Bucky holds up for him. He whines as he chews and then gags when he swallows. Sam is always prepared with that glass of water._ _ _ _

____It takes more than an hour, but Bucky is finally picking up the last piece. Encouraging Steve as he lifts it for him. Steve doesn’t argue. He just takes the meat and gets it down his throat one last time before chugging the entire glass of water this time around. It almost falls from his grip when Steve drops into Bucky’s side and cries harder._ _ _ _

____“No more,” he weeps. “Please, Bucky. Don’t make me do it again.”_ _ _ _

____Handing the empty plate over to Sarah -- who has tears of her own, both desperate and relieved -- Bucky wraps Steve up in his arms and promises that’s it for today. Bucky won’t lie. If things haven’t improved by tomorrow, they’ll have to do this again. Telling Steve that will only hurt him. He’s already so distraught over this. Bucky doesn’t have the heart to make it worse._ _ _ _

____“I love you, Steve,” he says. Holding him close and kissing the top of his head. “I’m going to take care of you.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m s-sorry, Bucky,” Steve blubbers. “I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t…” He chokes back a gag. “Don’t… wanna… a burden. I don’t…”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, husband, no.” Bucky runs a hand through Steve’s golden tresses. “You’re not. You’ve taken care of me. Now it’s my turn. I _want_ to take care of you.”_ _ _ _

____To that, Steve doesn’t respond any more than starting to calm down. The tears don’t dry up, not until he’s fallen asleep against Bucky. Bucky continues to hold him, even when Steve’s weight gets uncomfortable and his right arm has succumb to pins and needles. His husband might not be able rest for very long. Not if the liver comes back up on him._ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Bucky,” Sarah whispers. “We can’t thank you enough for being here with him.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh no,” Bucky says. “He’s my husband. Of course…”_ _ _ _

____“Many people in your position might not feel the same,” Joseph interrupts. “An arranged marriage you never expected? To someone you never wanted? These last six months can’t have been easy.” Easy, no. But Steve made them worth it. “None of this was fair to you and yet here you are. Thank you, son.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky’s insides clench and he glances up at Joseph. His eyes are wide as he looks back at Bucky. They both know what just happened. Joseph’s called him son. By all legal rights, that’s what Bucky is now. He’s Joseph and Sarah’s son. This is the first time anyone’s ever called him that since his father died._ _ _ _

____“Oh, Bucky,” Joseph says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”_ _ _ _

____“No, no.” Bucky shakes his head. It’s not a _bad_ feeling that rushes through him. Different. These people don’t see him as someone bound to them by ceremony and tradition. They truly care about him. Enough for Joseph to apologize for something most of Society would wouldn’t bat an eye over. “It’s okay. Thank you, Joseph. And you, Sarah. For everything you’ve given me.”_ _ _ _

____This is Bucky’s House now. They’ve allowed him to keep his name, keep his family, keep his secrets. They gave him their son. No one will ever take the place of his family. Of the father he’s lost and the mother who always prepared him as best she could and the sister Bucky would do anything for. That doesn’t mean there’s not enough room in his heart for his new House. Bucky loves them, too._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____Bruce was right to have Steve eat the whole pound of liver. Just as he suspected, Steve’s body hurled it out of him within thirty minutes of consumption. Sam’s taken Bucky’s place at Steve’s side so Bucky has the chance to stretch his muscles out again and Steve only relaxed again once someone was there. Sarah’s hand stays around his._ _ _ _

____Every hour on the hour, Bruce takes Steve’s vital signs. While he’s not quite improving, he’s not getting any worse. Betty says that’s a good sign, but Bucky can’t tell if she’s just saying that to set everyone’s minds at ease while she and Bruce continue to pour over their work. Trying to make heads or tails of what’s going on._ _ _ _

____As promised, Peggy returns at the break of dawn. Sunlight streaks across the sky and spills softly into the room through the cracks of the curtains still kept shut. Hope doesn’t trickle in with it. Instead, the light just feels taunting. A new day that doesn’t bring about the end of this nightmare. It does bring something though. Or, Peggy does. She doesn’t return alone._ _ _ _

____“Talia?” Bucky questions when he sees her come into the drawing room behind Peggy. “What’re you… what’s going on?”_ _ _ _

____At first, Bucky can’t be sure if he’s dreaming or not. Everything is somewhat fuzzy. Bucky’s not slept in almost twenty-four hours. He even rubs his eyes and sure enough, Talia doesn’t disappear. This doesn’t make sense. The only ones that should be here are those who know about Steve’s sickly childhood and the medicines that are _supposed_ to keep him healthy. Still, Talia’s here. _ _ _ _

____“Lady Carter thought you could use a friend,” she explains. Talia’s eyes wander to Steve. Still asleep on the sofa next to Sam. Face pale and breaths shallow. “I would like to be here for you, James. If that’s alright. Like you would be there for me if that was Clint. And your husband--” She steals another look at Steve and Bucky can see the affection in her eyes. “--I think, would allow you to be with me. I don’t think he’d even question it. So I would like to be here for you. Both of you. All of you.”_ _ _ _

____For a moment, Bucky forgets how to breathe. Feels like he’s drowning. When he resurfaces, everything is different. There’s so much love in his life, people he took for granted when all the shadows caved in on him once. He knows now he’ll never be truly alone._ _ _ _

____“But… but…”_ _ _ _

____He can’t answer. Not even to say he doesn’t understand why the House of Rogers would allow her to be here right now. The words get clogged in his throat. Pinched off by so many emotions. Fear for his husband, admiration for Peggy and Sam, pain for Sarah and Joseph, gratitude for Natalia. Love for them all._ _ _ _

____“Do you trust Lady Romanov, Bucky?”_ _ _ _

____It’s Sarah that asks. Even though Joseph is the head of the family, it’s still Sarah that asks._ _ _ _

____Bucky feels tears building behind his eyes and he doesn’t drop Talia’s eyes when he whispers, “With my life.” The faintest of smiles whispers upon Talia’s lips._ _ _ _

____“Then, we trust her,” Sarah responds. “And we’d like her to join us.”_ _ _ _

____Those tears fall now. Bucky’s helpless to stop them. He must whisper Talia’s name because she’s crossing the room now and immediately pulls him in for a hug. Bucky sobs into her shoulder. If feel so good to have her here. Someone who knows him so well._ _ _ _

____“I love him,” Bucky breathes. “I love him so much.”_ _ _ _

____“I know,” Talia says. Runs both hands across the back of Bucky’s neck. “I know. It’s not over yet, Bucky. He’s still here.” She lets him cry for a few minutes before saying, “Come, James. You have to eat.”_ _ _ _

____She’s already taking hold of his hand. Means to take him away from the room. Away from Steve. Panic blossoms across Bucky’s chest._ _ _ _

_____No!_ His arm pleads. _Don’t let her take us from him_._ _ _ _

_____We need to stay here,_ his legs insist. _ _ _ _

_____We can’t go_ , say his heart, his gut, his soul._ _ _ _

____“Talia…” His voice cracks. “I won’t leave him.”_ _ _ _

____“You don’t need to,” she answers. Still tows him towards the exit. “But you _are_ going to eat something. We’ll be right in the kitchen.” _ _ _ _

____Bucky glances back at the room he’s leaving behind. Where his dying husband still sleeps in Sam’s arms. Where his new mother and father sit at his side. Where Peggy now combs fingers gently through Steve’s hair. Where Bruce and Betty go on with their work. Everything can change in a heartbeat. While Bucky’s not there. If Steve wakes up for just one second…_ _ _ _

____“You’re no good to him if you make yourself ill,” Talia points out as if knowing everything that’s just crossed Bucky’s mind. “If you want to take care of him, you need to take care of yourself. Now don’t argue with me, James.”_ _ _ _

____There may have been no verbal argument, but Talia must have felt the protest in his body. Perhaps she can also feel it melting away. Because she’s right, and Bucky knows it. Bucky is no good to Steve if he’s sick. Weakened by his own reluctance and stubbornness. This is why Talia is here. Peggy or Sam would do this for Steve._ _ _ _

____Bucky steps closer and pecks the back of her head. Talia squeezes her hand around his in return._ _ _ _

____When they get to the kitchen, Bucky’s surprised to see Truvie there. Already preparing breakfast. She gives them a small grin as they enter the room._ _ _ _

____“Good morning, Lord Barnes, Lady Romanov,” she greets._ _ _ _

____“Truvie,” Bucky replies. “How long have you been up?”_ _ _ _

____“Right before dawn, sir,” she says. “I’ve already cleaned the upstairs rooms, changed the bedsheets, gathered all soiled clothing, and thought it’d be best to start on breakfast. I’ll start the laundry after it’s served.”_ _ _ _

____“Truvie,” he whispers. Holding her name gently in his heart. “You don’t have to do that. Not now. You know you’re more than welcome to sit with us.”_ _ _ _

____Truvie is over by the stove, cracking an egg into the frying pan on the lit burner._ _ _ _

____“The man lying on the sofa in there is as good as my son,” Truvie states. “If that were one of my twins, I…” She needs a moment to clear her throat. “Well, these are things you just don’t have to worry about now, m’Lord.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky understands. She needs to keep busy. Wants to be here and find use in her presence._ _ _ _

____“I never worry with you around, Truvie.”_ _ _ _

____Even from her spot by the stove, Bucky’s sure Truvie wipes away a bit of moisture from her eyes._ _ _ _

____“You’re too kind, Lord Barnes.”_ _ _ _

____The quickly thrown together eggs over easy and sausages probably taste just as good as they usually do, but Bucky can’t tell. His tongue doesn’t seem to want to share with him and he can barely stomach eating half of it let alone the whole plate. The only way to finish is to force it. Which Bucky does if only to please Talia._ _ _ _

____They make quiet conversation as they sit there. The sun creeping through the windows in that taunting way. According to Talia, Peggy’s phone call came in late last night. _Before_ Peggy had left to go home. _ _ _ _

____“She told me everything,” Talia says. “About your husband and what happened yesterday. Lady Carter said you’ve been calm and level-headed…”_ _ _ _

____“She’s wrong,” Bucky interrupts. Brow resting in the palms of his hands. “I’ve been terrified.” It feels so good to say it out loud. “I’m so scared, Natalia. Steve might die.” He lifts his head. Tears and all. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”_ _ _ _

____Talia reaches across the table and Bucky opens his hands without her needing to ask. Their fingers lace. Even metal twined with flesh._ _ _ _

____“You’re doing what you can,” she tries to comfort. “All those people in there? They’re all calmer because of you and what you’ve done for your husband. They love you.” Talia gives his hands a squeeze. “No one expects you to be a knight and ride into battle on your trusty steed, James.”_ _ _ _

____“I feel so helpless, Talia,” Bucky whispers. “He’s done so much for me. Steve. And now I… I just…” Can’t do anything for him. Bucky can only sit and watch Steve’s suffering. He sniffles and takes his hands back. Talia lets him without any resistance. “Well anyway, thank you, Talia. For coming.”_ _ _ _

____He shovels more food into his mouth. Just as tasteless and bland as it’s been the whole time. Pushing tears back down, Bucky can’t bring himself to talk about this. The thought of losing Steve is too overwhelming. He rubs at his eyes and fights against a yawn._ _ _ _

____“Bucky,” Talia whispers as he pushes scraps around with his fork. He looks up at her. “Do you think you could try to sleep? You look ready to fall over.”_ _ _ _

____“Can’t,” he comments. Getting up from the table to get himself a cup of coffee. Loaded with sugar. “I need to be awake for my husband.”_ _ _ _

____Her mouth opens like she might argue, but this isn’t one Bucky’s going to budge on. Maybe he’ll nod off a bit while in the room with Steve, but there’s no way he’s about to go up to their bedroom to try and sleep that way. He’s not going to be that far away from Steve._ _ _ _

____“Come on then,” Talia says. Rises from her seat and takes hold of Bucky’s hand. “Leave the dishes.” That makes sense. Truvie will still have something to do. “Let’s bring you back to your husband.”_ _ _ _

____Talia leads the way. It’s a good thing, too, since a haze has settled down around Bucky. Makes his ears ring and his eyesight all fuzzy. He barely even registers being coaxed onto the settee Sam had fallen asleep on earlier._ _ _ _

____It’s been pushed across the room so that it’s parallel to the sofa Steve is on. Just an arm’s length away. Bruce is taking more blood and Peggy has taken Sam’s place at Steve’s side. Who’s apparently just getting over another seizure. Steve is awake. Barely._ _ _ _

____“My Bucky,” Steve whispers. Tries to reach out for him with the arm Bruce is working with. Whimpers, “Ow…”_ _ _ _

____“Stay still, husband,” Bucky tells him. Reaches out to take Steve’s hand for himself. “Be good for Bruce.”_ _ _ _

____There’s a soft grin that turns up on Steve’s lips, but he leans his head back against the pillows as though he doesn’t quite grasp why he needs to stay still._ _ _ _

____“Okay, Bucky,” he replies. Soft and gently. So much like a child. “I’ll be good.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky hears someone’s breath catch and sees Joseph trying to keep his face from pinching. His eyes are wet. Jaw tight. Sarah stands and pulls him in for a hug._ _ _ _

____“Peggy?” Steve whispers. “Why’s my dad crying?”_ _ _ _

____Pain touches at Bucky’s chest. More of it. Feels as though it will never go away. Even though Betty whispers to him that it’s just disorientation again. Even when Sam suggests they have some of the breakfast Truvie’s made. Even as Peggy rubs a hand up and down Steve’s arm to sooth him. Bucky just feels pain._ _ _ _

____“He just wants you to get better, Steve,” she answers. “That’s all.”_ _ _ _

____Finished with collecting Steve’s blood, Bruce pats his shoulder after wrapping a new bandage around his arm and goes back with Betty. They now have the case with Steve’s medicine on the desk with them. One of the vials is empty._ _ _ _

____As though he’s forgotten all about Bucky holding his hand, Steve glances down at them when Bucky’s thumb draws circles atop his knuckles._ _ _ _

____“Hi, Bucky,” he says. Looking up and like he might burst into tears. A sudden flood of emotions he doesn’t understand. “Are you angry at me?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, husband.” Bucky leans forward and kisses Steve’s knuckles. “Of course not.”_ _ _ _

____Those tears do show up. Sudden and harsh and Steve gasps and flinches away from Bucky’s touch._ _ _ _

____“No. You’re angry at me,” he weeps. Steve shrinks into Peggy’s side. Trying to disappear from Bucky’s imagined anger. “Peggy, Bucky is cross with me. He…”_ _ _ _

____“Steve…” Bucky’s voice cracks and he almost falls to the floor in his haste to get even closer to his husband. Talia keeps him steady. Whispers, “He’s not thinking clearly, James.” And Bucky just places a hand on Steve’s leg. “I’m not angry with you, Steve. I promise. I love you.”_ _ _ _

____Only Steve just cries harder and clings to Peggy. Coughs and can’t catch his breath and cries some more. No matter how hard Bucky tries to convince him that he’s not angry. Steve doesn’t even listen to Peggy, and after just ten minutes, he cries himself to sleep._ _ _ _

____Bucky wants so badly to wake him up. For that fear to be erased from his husband’s mind. But he can’t. Bucky can’t do a damn thing to help Steve._ _ _ _

____“Bucky,” Talia whispers. He’d almost forgotten she’s with him. Seated right by his side. “Come on, lay down.”_ _ _ _

____He wants to protest. Explain to Talia that he can’t lay down. Bucky can’t resist though. Talia guides him down so that his head rests gently in her lap. Just like when they were kids. Really, the position is unacceptable. If Bucky was married to any House other than the House of Rogers, there’d be hell to pay for being embraced by someone not his headship. But Bucky _has_ married up to the House of Rogers, and no one here is going to question or fuss over it. Not even his own husband would. _ _ _ _

____The thought brings more tears to Bucky’s eyes. Steve wouldn’t mind. He’d understand that even when Natalia and Clint marry this summer, Bucky’s relationship with Talia is special. It’s different. Tailored to fit the two of them just perfectly._ _ _ _

____There’re hushed conversations going on around the room. Voices whispered through the air that circle around and tease Bucky’s ears. He can’t quite make out what’s being said. His mind feels fuzzy. In fact, the whole _room_ feels fuzzy. _ _ _ _

____Bucky doesn’t realize that Talia’s been running fingers through his hair until he needs to pry his eyes back open. It’s an unfair tactic. Talia wants him to sleep and knows very well how this makes him feel. All soft and cozy and relaxed. With Bucky already so tired -- exhaustion aching through his bones -- he’s already slipping. He can’t even find the words to ask her to stop. They’re in there somewhere. Floating through his mind and tickling his tongue, but whenever he tries to say anything only moaning sounds come out._ _ _ _

____He’s out so quickly that Bucky doesn’t even have time to think to himself that he’s falling asleep._ _ _ _

____It’s a dreamless sleep. Or so it seems. Bucky doesn’t recall actually falling asleep and therefor can really understand why he’s waking up. He can’t really understand why for that matter either. Why does he need to be awake? Why are there voices pulling him out of his slumber?_ _ _ _

____There’s something he needs to do. Bucky’s sure of it. _Just a few more minutes, Steve_ , he thinks. He just needs to shake the dust from his mind and then he can get up to do whatever it is he and his husband need to do. _ _ _ _

____His eyes aren’t cooperating though. No matter how much he pleads, they won’t listen. Nor will the rest of his body._ _ _ _

_____Please_ , he begs. _Just listen to me for once_._ _ _ _

____Nothing but silence._ _ _ _

____Pins and needles prick at his skin. All over. Making Bucky tingle and almost achy since the bed is not being its usual, kind self._ _ _ _

____“It makes _no_ sense!” _ _ _ _

____That voice doesn’t belong to Steve, but it’s close enough to break through the static. There’re people lurking about the room. Why? People shouldn’t be in their bedroom when they’re trying to sleep._ _ _ _

____It’s only when he feels the vibrations in his throat from the soft grunt running through it that Bucky finally feels his mind reconnecting with the rest of him. Slow going. He actually wiggles his toes first. Moves onto his feet and then legs, working all the way up his body until his face scrunches and things begin to click into place. Puzzle pieces connecting to form a whole picture instead of the scattered images blowing around._ _ _ _

____Bucky opens his eyes. And is immediately hit with a horrid flood of remembrance. Everything crashes down on him. Hard. Fast. And almost has Bucky tumbling to the floor as he shoots up and nearly falls off the back of the settee he fell asleep on._ _ _ _

____Right in front of him is Steve. Still laying on the couch and starting to wake himself. Across the room, Bruce is arguing with Sarah. The rest of them are there as well, but they remain silent and let the other two bicker._ _ _ _

____A hand brushes the back of Bucky’s neck. He jerks his head around to see Talia. Here with him. That’s right. She came with Peggy this morning. It’s late afternoon now. Golden sun sneaks in under the bottom of the curtains. Splays across the floor. Completely oblivious to its intrusion._ _ _ _

____“Talia,” Bucky whispers. “What’s… what’s going on?”_ _ _ _

____Her mouth opens to answer, but it’s not her voice he hears first._ _ _ _

____“Bucky?”_ _ _ _

____Just like that, Steve has his full attention. Everything else is just background noise. Nothing matters._ _ _ _

____“Hello, husband,” Bucky answers. “I’m here. How’re you feeling?”_ _ _ _

____Steve blinks a few times as though trying to get his eyes to focus. His lips are so chapped. Cracking now. It’s like he hasn’t had anything to drink in days. Bucky reaches over to that trolley parked behind the arm of the sofa. Still home to that pitcher of water and, very conveniently, a full glass. He holds it up to his husband’s lips. A bit of it trickles down Steve’s chin. Bucky wipes it away with his fingers. Just that touch tells Bucky how high Steve’s fever still is. They’re going to have to use ice again._ _ _ _

____“My stomach hurts,” Steve tells him when Bucky puts the glass back down. “I don’t… feel good. Bucky, am I… dying?”_ _ _ _

____“No, Stevie,” Bucky answers. Reflex. One he’s not even sure is true anymore. “You’re not dying.”_ _ _ _

____But they do need to get his fever down. This much Bucky knows. He leans in and takes hold of Steve’s hand. Brushes the hair away from his husband’s forehead while nodding for Sam to come back over._ _ _ _

____It’s not Bucky though that tells Sam what’s on his mind. Talia whispers to him. Must have seen the slight reaction when Bucky touched Steve’s face. Sam asks Peggy to tag along, and the two disappear into the kitchen._ _ _ _

____Steve’s closed his eyes again. His mouth a bit slack like he just doesn’t have the energy to keep it closed._ _ _ _

____Over by the makeshift lab in the middle of their drawing room, Bruce and Sarah are still bickering. Betty and Joseph are speaking as well but it looks more like a heated conversation._ _ _ _

____“Talia?” Bucky whispers. Hopes Steve can’t hear him. “What’s going on?”_ _ _ _

____Talia sits back down next to him on the settee. Whispers in his ear, “Betty found something. In Steve’s medicines.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky’s heart drops to the floor. His stomach falls with it. Cold washes over him. Wrapping him in uncomfortable arms that don’t give him room to breathe._ _ _ _

____“What’d you mean? What did she find?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s not… working,” she answers. “His body isn’t accepting it. There’s something about this batch that isn’t being received by Steve’s blood.”_ _ _ _

____For almost a full month. It’s been almost a _month_ and Steve’s not gotten the proper care he needs to keep himself healthy. Bucky feels sick. _ _ _ _

____He waits until Sam and Peggy return with the ice for Steve’s fever --Steve isn’t any more receptive this time around than he was last -- before slipping away to listen to the others._ _ _ _

____“It makes _no_ sense,” Bruce is saying. “Betty’s the only other one who handles the material.”_ _ _ _

____“Then you must not have made it correctly,” Sarah insists._ _ _ _

____Bruce rubs fingers across his eyes. Lifting the glasses away from his face, he sighs._ _ _ _

____“Sarah, I’ve been making it for nearly ten years.”_ _ _ _

____Everyone looks exhausted. Poor Sarah is so pale. Still standing on two feet, but Bucky’s not sure how. Losing Steve will destroy her._ _ _ _

____“Something must have happened to dilute it,” Betty suggests. “It’s the only explanation.”_ _ _ _

____“Are you suggesting Truvie had something to do with this?” Joseph mumbles. “She’s been part of the family since before Steve was even born.”_ _ _ _

____“No,” Bruce sighs again. “That’s the problem. There isn’t anyone who comes in contact with Steve’s medicine that I don’t trust. The package is sealed before it’s delivered. If that seal was damaged, Truvie would have noticed.”_ _ _ _

____“And Miss Lewis grew up in the House of Foster,” Betty comments. “They’re friends of all our Houses. They might not know what the package contains, but they’ve always agreed to act as courier between us to avoid raising suspicions. Miss Lewis wouldn’t tamper with it.”_ _ _ _

____The wheels in Bucky’s mind stop turning. Just for a second before spinning quicker. Pushing thought after thought around. They’re all still talking, but Bucky no longer hears what’s being said. He can only focus on one thing._ _ _ _

____“Miss Lewis?”_ _ _ _

____His voice startles even him. Coming out like a flash of lightning. Quick and sudden and enough to silence everyone else. All eyes fall to him as if they’ve forgotten he existed._ _ _ _

____“Yes?” Bruce looks at him. Confused, it would seem, by Bucky’s confusion. “She delivers the medicines every month.”_ _ _ _

____“No.”_ _ _ _

____That’s the problem here. That’s what’s wrong. It may have been a month ago, and Bucky hasn’t thought of it since that day, but he can still picture the man who dropped the package off. A short, stout, bespectacled man with a round face and heavy accent._ _ _ _

____“No?” Sarah puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bucky, what is it?”_ _ _ _

____“She’s not the one who delivered this month’s package,” Bucky says. Throat tight. He doesn’t need much time to put together that something is very, very wrong with this. “It was a man who dropped it off. A doctor. Dr…” He runs through the names in his mind to make sure he has the right one. “Zola. That’s it. Dr. Zola.”_ _ _ _

____The name falls short to Sarah and Joseph, but Bucky can see the recognition flash across Bruce’s face. Followed by the worry that fills his eyes. Bucky’s not the only one who notices either._ _ _ _

____“Who is that, Bruce?” Sarah asks. “Do you know him?”_ _ _ _

____“Arnim Zola.” Bruce heaves a heavy breath. Takes his glasses off and pinches between his eyes. “He’s a scientist from the Swiss Lands. He’s studied with Dr. Faustus in the Institutes.” Bucky knows that man. He was here for their dinner party. Sided against Steve when they argued over the use and practices of the Institutes. “More importantly--” Bruce’s eyes sweep over all of them. “--he works for the House of Pierce.”_ _ _ _

____The floor feels unsteady under Bucky’s wobbly feet. The whole room spins around him as the sudden realization of what’s going on wraps around him. Alexander Pierce looked for ways to hurt him and Steve and the House of Rogers. He found it. Because Bucky gave him a starting point._ _ _ _

____Stomach turning, Bucky feels faint. He’s given no chance to dwell on such feelings though. Not when Sarah moves right for the door. Face red and hard and full of rage._ _ _ _

____“Sarah!”_ _ _ _

____Joseph goes after her. Catches up immediately and gently takes hold of her shoulders to stop her. Only Sarah slaps his hands away._ _ _ _

____“Let me go, Joseph,” she snarls. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that son of a--”_ _ _ _

____“Sarah, my wife, you cannot just barge in on Alexander Pierce and accuse him of such crimes without evidence.”_ _ _ _

____Joseph seems to think Sarah’s threats are just that. A threat to blame him for what’s gone on. Bucky’s not so sure. Not with the fury that blows through her eyes. A dark, violent storm raging through her._ _ _ _

____“I don’t care!” she bellows. “That man has been sneaking around trying to dig something up on our House and if he thinks for one second I’m going to sit back and let him _kill_ my son just to get to us--”_ _ _ _

____“I _know_ , Sarah,” her husband agrees. He’s got his hands on her shoulders again. Gently keeping her where she is. “But we need to keep it together. Do this carefully.”_ _ _ _

____“Your husband is right, Sarah,” Betty says. “If Lord Pierce really is involved, this must be handled delicately.”_ _ _ _

____As they continue to bicker over the manner of approaching Alexander with what they’ve discovered, Bucky looks back over at his husband. Steve is hugging Peggy while Sam continues to run ice up and over his body. They’ve sat him up and Truvie’s brought in a bucket of water. Steve’s feet are in it. Talia is talking with him. She’s even holding his hand and he smiles weakly at her._ _ _ _

____Everyone in the room has forgotten about Bucky. For the moment anyway. Which is good. Because he’s not going to let his past mistake take his husband away from him. Not like this._ _ _ _

_____Move now_ , his legs says. _Now’s your chance_._ _ _ _

_____Right. Stay steady for me._ _ _ _ _

____They listen. His legs move. Willingly and happily over an encouraging rug that leads out to the hall. The voices in the room get quieter and quieter until they vanish altogether when Bucky’s through the dining room. He grabs his coat. Doesn’t bother to put it on. Bucky makes it to the front door._ _ _ _

____“What are you going to do?” Peggy. Damn it. “Walk to the Lord Pierce’s home?”_ _ _ _

____Bucky’s hand squeezes the doorknob._ _ _ _

____“If that’s what it takes.”_ _ _ _

____“You heard them in there,” Peggy says. “This needs to be handled delicately.”_ _ _ _

____“By then it could be too late,” Bucky huffs, wrenching the door open. “Don’t try to stop me.”_ _ _ _

____“Stopping you isn’t what I had in mind, Lord Barnes.”_ _ _ _

____Oddly enough, that _does_ get Bucky to stop. There’s ice in Peggy’s voice. A cold, powerful chill that freezes the air between them. Bucky turns back to look at her._ _ _ _

____“It isn’t?”_ _ _ _

____“No. It’s not.”_ _ _ _

____“What I think Peggy means is,” Sam says. Emerging from the hall with Talia right behind him. “Is that you’re not going alone.”_ _ _ _

____Determination trembles through the walls. All of them regard Bucky with careful eyes. He can feel the conflict. If he says yes, that puts them all in danger. If he says no, they’ll either insist or make enough of a fuss that it’ll draw attention. Time is wasting away. _Tick tock, tick tock_. And Bucky needs to make a decision._ _ _ _

____“I can’t ask any of you to put your Houses in danger,” Bucky settles on._ _ _ _

____“You’re not asking,” Sam says._ _ _ _

____Talia answers, “And I’m telling you, you’re not going alone.”_ _ _ _

____They all mean well, Bucky knows they do. But there’s no time for this._ _ _ _

____“I don’t have _time_ for this,” Bucky growls. “So unless you have a better idea…”_ _ _ _

____“As a matter of fact,” Peggy interrupts. “I do.”_ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____The inside of Lord Pierce’s home is just like Peggy described. Big, cold, and unwelcoming. The marble floors shine like a pristine star. Perfection demanded in every corner. Even the ceiling glares down at Bucky as though he’s some parasite needed to be vanquished._ _ _ _

____Bucky waits in the front parlor. It’s very quiet around here. Pin drop silence that drips all around him. This is the time of day where he and Steve would be up in their library -- _theirs_ \-- or down in Steve’s studio sharing stories of each others’ days. Or perhaps Bucky would be at the piano playing sweet melodies to fill their home and beckon his husband to him. Nothing like this silence though. _ _ _ _

____He has no idea how much of the House of Pierce lives here. Generations perhaps. It is large enough to fit many families with comfort to spare. It can’t possibly just be Alexander and Lady Pierce. How lonely._ _ _ _

____“Lord Barnes?” The Housemaid’s returned. Her posture stiff and perfectly positioned. Expression to match. “The Master will see you now.”_ _ _ _

____It’s hard for Bucky not to roll his eyes. Not at this woman. The fault of such old terms being used here doesn’t fall with her._ _ _ _

____She leads Bucky down the long, windowless corridor. All the way to the back of the house. Bucky doesn’t see or hear anyone until they reach a thick, wooden door. Walnut and polished and perfect like everything else here._ _ _ _

____The Housemaid knocks._ _ _ _

____“Enter,” says the voice from inside. Alexander’s. “Ah, Lord Barnes,” he greets. Unimpressed and distracted by whatever papers he looks over while seated at his large, ostentatious desk pushed back to the end of the study. As though he didn’t already know who was here to see him. “We’ve been expecting you.”_ _ _ _

____It shouldn’t be surprising to see Brock standing next to Alexander’s desk, but Bucky’s still surprised._ _ _ _

____“Would you be needin’ anything else, sir?” the Housemaid asks._ _ _ _

____The only acknowledgement she receives is a flick of Alexander’s fingers. She bows her head at her dismissal and takes her leave._ _ _ _

____“Hello, doll,” Brock says once they’re alone. “It’s so lovely to see you.”_ _ _ _

____“Feeling’s not mutual,” Bucky grumbles. Then shoots daggers at Alexander. “What did you do to my husband?”_ _ _ _

____“Is there something wrong with Lord Rogers?” Alexander asks. A smirk twitching the corners of his lips. “Is he feeling ill?”_ _ _ _

____“Don’t play daft,” he replies. Teeth clenched. Fists clenched. Body clenched. Every muscle burning with the raging fire that ignites Bucky’s very soul. “You did something to his medicines.”_ _ _ _

____“Medicines?” Alexander chuckles and opens the top drawer of his desk. He places a small box on top of it. A box Bucky recognizes. “You mean _this_ medicine?”_ _ _ _

____“Where did you get that?” Bucky asks. Maybe it’s irrelevant, but he has to know._ _ _ _

____“You’d be surprised,” Alexander tells him, “Just how _easy_ it is to fool someone. Especially those _below_ Society. But what can you expect from commoners? That little lady, what was her name? Miss Lewis?” That’s what Bruce said earlier. The young woman who grew up with the House Foster. “All it took was my associate waiting for her that afternoon and telling her that Lord Rogers’ Housekeeper was ill. He was the replacement for the day and he knew to expect a package from the House Banner.” Alexander smirks and tilts his head as though ready to share a joke. “The poor girl. Dr. Zola said she didn’t need much convincing. She thought about it for a moment or two, but, in the end, she was all too willing to accept lies for truth. And your dear husband has suffered the consequences.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky moves forward. The very thing Steve needs to get him well again is just inches away from him. Stolen by this man. Swindled away by lies and deceit._ _ _ _

____“You son of a--”_ _ _ _

____Brock holds a palm out._ _ _ _

____“Not so fast, doll,” he warns. “You don’t want this to get rough.”_ _ _ _

____He’s right. That’s the last thing Bucky wants. Brock _will_ restrain him. Bring him to his knees and then what? Sure, Bucky’ll get in a few good hits -- like the one he took at the club that night -- but he knows his limits. Knows that Brock _will_ beat him. _ _ _ _

____“What do you _want_ from me?” Bucky asks. “I’ve already _told_ you all there is to know!”_ _ _ _

____Alexander sneers and puts a hand on the box holding Steve’s medicine. He drums his fingers over it. Tap, tap, tap. Over and over, and Bucky wants nothing more than to just snatch it away and run home with it. Get it back to Steve._ _ _ _

____“You did tell me much,” Alexander agrees. “Many months ago. When you committed treason against your new House by sharing secrets about your headship, isn’t that right, Lord Barnes?”_ _ _ _

____Bucky’s eyes flick to the one window in the room. Cracked open slightly. Just like Peggy said it would be._ _ _ _

____“One could argue that I was doing the right thing,” Bucky says. “That informing someone in Parliament about my husband’s childhood was in Society’s best interest.”_ _ _ _

____“Your mind is as sharp as ever, Lord Barnes,” Alexander chuckles. “One _could_ try to make that argument. But what about your relationship with Lord Rumlow over here? Bedding one man while engaged to another? Even on your _wedding_ night?”_ _ _ _

____Bucky glances down at his feet. They don’t provide much comfort. Alexander is right. Brock got to Bucky even the day Steve made him his._ _ _ _

____“It was just a kiss,” Bucky mutters. “We just kissed.”_ _ _ _

____“When you were already married, doll,” Brock reminds him._ _ _ _

____The cold, hard truth of that evening feels like a bullet ripping through Bucky’s heart. He’d kissed another after giving his vows to Steve._ _ _ _

____“Is there a point to all this?” Bucky growls. “Yes, yes, I committed treason against the House of Rogers, _my_ House. Yes, I shared a bed with Lord Rumlow while engaged to my husband and shared a kiss with him even after I married Steve. What does it matter now?”_ _ _ _

____“The point is,” Alexander says, “if you were willing to do those things when you had _nothing_ to lose…” He opens the box. Takes out one of the vials and swivels it between his fingers. “Then what would you be willing to do if you have _everything_ to lose?” _ _ _ _

____The sound of shattering glass echoes in Bucky’s ears. It’s all he can hear as the vial breaks into so many pieces they glitter even in the dim light of the study. The clear liquid inside spreads along the sleek shine of the desktop. Dripping off the edge and seeping into the carpet. Steve’s salvation. Wasted away to nothing._ _ _ _

____Time freezes over to one glacial moment. A pair of hands rub Bucky’s shoulders. He should shove them off. Push them away. Bucky has no idea when Brock even came over to him._ _ _ _

____“Make it easy for yourself,” Brock murmurs. Lips so close to Bucky’s ear they brush against it. “Just tell him what he wants.”_ _ _ _

____Another vial shatters. Both doses mix together. Two less. Bruce has said he’s already in the process of making next month’s supply, but it won’t be ready on time. Not to save Steve. He’ll die without getting at least _some_ of what’s here right now. _ _ _ _

____“What do you _want_ from me?” Bucky hisses. “I’ve told you everything I know!”_ _ _ _

____“You haven’t though,” Alexander counters. Smashes another and picks one more up. “I want to know _why_ the doctors at the House of Banner pay visits to the House of Rogers _everyday_.”_ _ _ _

____“I told you!” Bucky shouts. “I _don’t_ know!”_ _ _ _

____“No, I think you _do_ know.”_ _ _ _

____The vial Alexander holds joins the rest. Bucky goes to move again. To charge forward. Fury bursting through him like a wildfire. He’ll kill him. Kill this man with his hands if he has to. Only he can’t get anywhere. Brock holds him back._ _ _ _

____“Let go of me!” Bucky roars as he struggles against the thick arms that have wrapped around him. “Let me go!” Alexander holds another vial up. “No!”_ _ _ _

____His left arm wheezes as it tries as hard as it can to help Bucky. He pushes against Brock. Kicks and even tries to bite. Anything he can do to get away from him and get to Alexander._ _ _ _

____“Just hold still, doll,” Brock inists. Even wraps a hand around Bucky’s throat. “Stop making it harder on yourself.”_ _ _ _

____Brock _squeezes_ his hand. Stops the breath Bucky’s trying to take immediately. Bucky feels the swelling in his head coming on quickly. Alexander repeats his question and Brock loosens his grip so Bucky can answer. _ _ _ _

____“I don’t… know,” Bucky gasps. “I swear.”_ _ _ _

____Alexander just shakes his head and flings that one down, too. He asks the question again. Bucky says the same. The vial smashes. Bucky keeps trying to get away from Brock. Fighting so hard his shirt tears and he manages to elbow Brock in the ribs with his left arm. He hears Brock give a painful grunt as he grabs the spot. That only gets Bucky an inch or two closer to the desk before Brock cracks the back of his hand over the side of Bucky’s face._ _ _ _

____It’s enough to make Bucky see stars and a warm, trickle of blood oozes out of the corner of his mouth. Bucky may have stayed on his feet if Brock’s fist didn’t meet the corner of his eye to knock him right off them. The force of it dazes Bucky so much that he barely even registers he’s on the floor until there’s a swift kick to his side. Pain spreads. Quick and fast and Brock is suddenly yanking him back up._ _ _ _

____His head is pounding already, it feels as though the side of his face has split open, and his ribs pulse with a spreading bruise. The room spins around him in a horrible blur of streaky colors._ _ _ _

____At least they’re both kind enough to wait until Bucky has his bearings again before continuing._ _ _ _

____“Answer the question,” Brock tells him. “Just answer the question, doll.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t…” Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know.”_ _ _ _

____Again, Alexander asks. Again, Bucky says he doesn’t know. Again, Brock holds him back, adding another strike to his side that pushes the breath right out of him. Again, more of Steve’s medicine is wasted._ _ _ _

____Repeat. Over and over until all Bucky can hear is the question and the smashing of glass. All he can feel is being trapped in the vice-like grip of Brock Rumlow and the desperation that grows larger and larger until Bucky’s sure he’ll pass out from it._ _ _ _

____“Stop!” Bucky cries when Alexander holds one of the last three vials left. “Please…” He’ll beg. He’ll get on his knees and beg if that’s what it takes. “Don’t… he’ll die. Steve… my husband will die. Please don’t…”_ _ _ _

____He’s gone slack in Brock’s hold. No longer trying to get away. It’s pointless anyway._ _ _ _

____“Yes,” Alexander agrees. “He probably will. You can save him, Lord Barnes. All you have to do is _tell_ me why the doctors are always there.”_ _ _ _

____“I… I told you…” Bucky’s stomach flips when Alexander lifts his arm to toss that one away. “Okay! Okay, I’ll… I’ll tell you. Just… please don’t break anymore.”_ _ _ _

____Pursing his lips, Alexander holds the vial out to Bucky. Not that he means to hand it over. Taunting. After all he’s done, now he’s _taunting_ him._ _ _ _

____“Go on,” Alexander says. “What do you have to say?”_ _ _ _

____Bucky hesitates. If he tells Alexander about Sarah’s illness he could force her from her seat in Parliament. Joseph too. Maybe even have Steve’s right to it denied. Smear their good name and all the hard work they’ve done in order to improve the world. But if he doesn’t…_ _ _ _

____Alexander raises his arm again._ _ _ _

____“Sarah is sick!” Bucky exclaims. The words burst from his mouth and stop Alexander from throwing away another vial. “She… Lady Rogers is sick.”_ _ _ _

____“ _How_ sick?” Alexander asks. Arm still in that threatening position, but he doesn’t move it. _ _ _ _

____“Cancer,” Bucky whispers. “She’s dying.”_ _ _ _

____“A compromised mind, hm?” Alexander says this mostly to himself. Chuckling slightly as he contemplates what laws Sarah’s broken by not letting her superiors know about her sickness. “Oh, Lady Rogers. You have been a thorn in my side for the _last_ time.” He sniggers, “Not even Judge Fury can refute this.”_ _ _ _

____“Lord Pierce,” Bucky whimpers. Tears falling. When did he start crying? “My husband’s medicines.”_ _ _ _

____First looking to the vial in his hand, Alexander then nods to Brock who releases Bucky. No longer being held up, Bucky topples to the floor and looks up just in time to see Alexander tucking that vial back into the box with the other two that are left. He closes the top and slides it to the other end of the desk. Just within Bucky’s reach._ _ _ _

____Bucky grabs it as soon as it’s close enough. Holds it tight. They’ll have to pry it from his dead body if they want it back._ _ _ _

____Alexander rises from his chair, catching Bucky’s attention again. He tosses something at the floor. It’s a handkerchief._ _ _ _

____“Clean yourself off,” he sneers. “You’re a gentleman of Society. Act like it.”_ _ _ _

____Not condescending to the act, Bucky doesn’t take the handkerchief, but he does get up off the floor._ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Lord Barnes,” Alexander says. “You’ve been most helpful.”_ _ _ _

____When he and Brock move to leave, Brock gives Bucky a little wink. With Steve’s medicine clutched in his hands, Bucky smashes his jaw._ _ _ _

____“Lord Pierce!” He calls after him. Bucky doesn’t get an answer, but Alexander does glance over his shoulder. “This isn’t over,” he swears. And means it. Every word. “This isn’t over by a _fucking_ long shot.”_ _ _ _

____His threat does something to Brock. The man looks at Bucky as though he’d give anything to take another swing at him. Alexander, however, just flicks his eyebrows up with a little smirk curled up on his mouth._ _ _ _

____The sun has set by the time Bucky gets back outside. He’s tried to clean himself up as best as possible. Using only his sleeve and hands so he still looks quite disheveled. Hair in disarray and cheeks stained with tears. Eyes puffy and nose red. His jacket covers the tears and rips in his shirt caused by fighting against Brock, but there’s nothing he can do about the cut on the side of his mouth or the bruise by his eye. He walks quickly down the front path to the curb where a taxi waits for him._ _ _ _

____The driver is already at the carriage, opening the door for Bucky and politely ignoring the state he’s in. Bucky climbs in and sighs. Looks at Talia and Sam._ _ _ _

____“Did you get it?” he asks._ _ _ _

____The two of them exchange a glance. Bucky’s too exhausted and in too much pain to worry about what that means._ _ _ _

____“Yes,” Sam says while Talia holds up the film reel. “We got it.”_ _ _ _

____A simple plan really. Forged by an angel who knows how to deal with the devil. Peggy had said Lord Pierce only allows unwelcomed visitors to meet in his study. As she’s had to do many times. She knew that window would be open. Said Lord Pierce likes to keep it cold in there whenever possible. Keeps his guest uncomfortable. Also made it a bit easier for the camera they borrowed from Peggy to pick up what was going on in the room._ _ _ _

____They say they got it. Sam and Talia. They were able to capture Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow in the act of all that. Bucky leans his head back. It hurts. Pounds hard enough he can feel his pulse beating through. The way the carriage bounces as the cabbie takes them back doesn’t help._ _ _ _

____“Bucky,” Talia whispers. Bucky grunts. It’s the best he can answer at the moment. “You… you’ve admitted to committing treason against your House. And… being with another while engaged _and_ married.”_ _ _ _

____Unable to help it, Bucky takes a glimpse at Sam. If it was Talia’s husband or wife admitting to such an act, Bucky might have a few choice words. But Sam just holds a hand up. No judgement. For now anyway._ _ _ _

____“I know,” Bucky agrees._ _ _ _

____“You can’t…” She just looks at him for a moment. “If you show anyone this…”_ _ _ _

____She doesn’t go on, but Sam does._ _ _ _

____“You can be arrested. Same as Lords Pierce and Rumlow.”_ _ _ _

____Which is a shame, given all the trouble he’s just gone through. Sure, he has the evidence he needs to have them both taken to prison. Conspiracy to commit treason against another House. Possibly even attempted murder if the Courts decide to see Alexander withholding Steve’s medicine as such a crime. Brock’s even admitted to kissing Bucky while Bucky was already married. A small crime, but still a crime to kiss a spouse under someone’s headship. But if Bucky goes to the Courts with it, he also damns himself._ _ _ _

____It’s actually hard to care about any of that right now. Not with the box nestled comfortably in Bucky’s lap._ _ _ _

____Bucky says, “Just… hold onto it, Talia, okay?”_ _ _ _

____She and Sam look at each other again, but Talia agrees. The reel is slipped into her pocket. Bucky knows she’ll keep it safe. He might never even see it again._ _ _ _

____That doesn’t matter now. It’s the horses that pull the carriage that matter. Each step they take brings Steve’s medicine closer to him._ _ _ _

____Bucky just smiles._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____“Lord Barnes!” Truvie gasps when he returns with Sam and Talia. “What’s happened? Are you alright, sir?”_ _ _ _

____Alright might be subjective at the moment. Relatively speaking, yes, Bucky’s fine. He’s in one piece, he accomplished what he set out to do. Sure, his head feels as though someone is squeezing it and he can feel the pulsing in his lip and his eye’s all swollen. Sam’s actually helping him move. After very little sleep and a nearly empty stomach, Bucky’s body is not at all pleased with him and giving him the silent treatment. It’ll forgive him. All things that will mend._ _ _ _

____“I’m okay, Truvie,” he answers. His body, however, gives a quiet scoff. “Just a little banged up is all.”_ _ _ _

____Behind him, Talia scoffs along with his achy limbs._ _ _ _

____“He’s a regular louse, that Lord Rumlow,” she mutters. “What I wouldn’t give to pummel that arrogant face of his.”_ _ _ _

____“Talia,” Bucky murmurs. It’s not like he doesn’t agree. By all accounts, he _does_. But given the chance, Talia _would_ act on those urges. Consequences be damned. The last thing Bucky needs right now is Talia getting mixed up with Brock because of him. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”_ _ _ _

____She sniffs and lifts her nose. Just enough for him to notice. She’ll acquiesce for the moment. After finding out Brock was the one Bucky was sleeping with after his father died, she’s already placed a personal hatred on the man. This doesn’t help._ _ _ _

____“He could use some ice,” Sam tells Truvie. “Get that swelling down a bit.”_ _ _ _

____They’ve not even made it out of the entryway and Truvie’s already hurrying off to fetch some ice._ _ _ _

____“I need to get this to Bruce,” Bucky says. “Don’t worry about me.”_ _ _ _

____“No,” Sam denies him. Right away and won’t help him anywhere further than the front hall. He just sits Bucky down on the foot of the stairs. “I’ll take it to them. Or Lady Romanov, if you don’t trust me, but not you.”_ _ _ _

____“I trust you,” Bucky replies. Stunned at the implication. And then feels a bit blown away by being told _he’s_ not allowed to bring the medicine. “Wait, why not? He’s my husband! I have every right--”_ _ _ _

____“If Steve sees you like this it’ll only upset him,” Sam says. Hard. Not in the mood to be argued with. This whole experience is starting to take it’s toll on everyone--Sam included. “If he’s still asleep, I’ll come back for you right away. But if he’s up, you need to be more presentable.” He holds his head up before adding, “We all didn’t just take this risk to have you jeopardize Steve’s health even more.”_ _ _ _

____Sam holds his hand out for the box. Not thinking about it, Bucky only clings to it more. As much as Bucky wants to argue and insist that he get back to Steve, he knows Sam is right. Sam and Talia just put themselves and their Houses at risk to help him with this. Peggy may have just put a giant strain on her relationship with the House of Rogers by staying behind to distract them as long as possible._ _ _ _

____It almost pains him to do so, but Bucky hands the box over to Sam. Feels as though he’s just given a piece of his soul to him. Relief passes through Sam’s entire body. Bucky can see it. Hear it, too, when Sam thanks him and rushes to the drawing room._ _ _ _

____Talia sits down next to him. Tells him to be still while she takes to inspecting the wounds on his face. She tsks a few times but says nothing. Not even when Truvie returns not only with the promised ice, but a cloth and a bowl of water._ _ _ _

____Thanking her, Bucky takes the ice and holds it against the side of his face. Talia wets the cloth and cleans him up. They’re not waiting long. Sam comes back only a few minutes later. His face is hard to read._ _ _ _

____“Come on,” he says, already helping Bucky up to his feet. “Steve is asleep and they want to talk to you.”_ _ _ _

____Knots bunch in Bucky’s stomach. He didn’t have the chance to think about this part. Having to face them all again when he’s done the exact opposite of what they agreed should be done. Not to mention the fact that he’s just told Alexander Pierce about Sarah’s illness. How much will one House tolerate before it’s too much?_ _ _ _

____“Are they angry with me?” Bucky whispers._ _ _ _

____“Uh.” Sam actually snickers. “I’ll let you decide that.”_ _ _ _

____They enter the drawing room then and Bucky’s met with silence and more unreadable faces. Bruce and Betty have stopped whatever it was they’re doing with the medicine he’s brought back. Peggy is over by Steve. At least she’s a little easier to read. She looks anxious. Ready to be told whatever happened. Sarah and Joseph just stare at him. Until Sarah makes her way over. Slow and steady, it looks hard for her to go at such a pace._ _ _ _

____Bucky’s not sure what to expect, but it certainly isn’t the hands that gently touch his face. Fingers that graze carefully around his fresh cuts and injuries. Or the arms that suddenly wrap around him._ _ _ _

____“Thank you,” Sarah whispers. “Thank you, Bucky.”_ _ _ _

____All he wants to do right now is stay like this. But everything comes at a price. Even trying to save his husband._ _ _ _

____“Sarah,” he says. Pulls away quickly. Bucky needs to tell her what this cost them. A payment he made without even consulting her. “He knows. About you. He…” Bucky’s voice cracks. “Lord Pierce knows you’re sick. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell him, I--”_ _ _ _

____A finger presses against his lips. Keeps Bucky from saying anything else. Sarah shakes her head._ _ _ _

____“It’s alright, Bucky,” she tells him. “You did exactly what I would have done.” Sarah brushes the hair that’s fallen in front of Bucky’s brow behind his ear. She smiles and then speaks to her husband. “Joseph, I believe a phone call to Judge Fury is in order. Right now might be a perfect time to retire.”_ _ _ _

____As if everyone had been waiting to see what Sarah would do, they all follow her lead. She and Joseph go to use the telephone upstairs. Though Sarah states she’d much rather do this in person, they can’t risk waiting for Lord Pierce to get to Judge Fury first. Betty is already pouring over the medicines that Bucky’s returned to them. Mixing them with some of the new batch she and Bruce have been working on._ _ _ _

____“Bucky?”_ _ _ _

____He turns. Sees Peggy there. Over with Steve is Sam who just nods at Bucky when they catch eyes._ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Peggy,” Bucky says. “For your help. I hope they weren’t angry with you when they realized we’d gone.”_ _ _ _

____“They weren’t pleased,” she answers. “Especially Sarah. She was terrified. On your behalf.” Peggy cups her hand gently under Bucky’s chin. Eases his face from one side to the other. “Apparently with good reason. What did he do to you?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s nothing,” he lies. Bucky’s still in a lot of pain. “I’ll be okay.”_ _ _ _

____“Lord Rumlow,” Talia grumbles. Standing next to Bucky, probably this whole time. “That’s what happened.”_ _ _ _

____“Were you able to capture it?” Peggy asks. “If you did, we can push for a trial. Put a stop to--”_ _ _ _

____“It’s not that simple.” Sam says it. Comes up behind Peggy. “Some things are better left unsaid for the time being.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky can feel Peggy’s questions even if she doesn’t voice them. Instead, she simply nods._ _ _ _

____“We got what was most important,” she states. The four of them look over to where Bruce and Betty are busy working. “That’s what counts.”_ _ _ _

____“James,” Talia whispers. “Perhaps this would be a good time to change.”_ _ _ _

____She means his clothes. They are all ripped up and quite possibly tarnished with a bit of blood. Bucky agrees and she accompanies him upstairs. As they head to his bedroom, Bucky hears a bit of the conversation Sarah is having on the phone._ _ _ _

____“If it’s alright, Nick,” she’s saying. “I think it’s best that we speak now. Before you see Lord Pierce…”_ _ _ _

____A part of Bucky longs to stop and listen. To make sure that he’s not caused more harm than good to the House. That’s not possible though. It’d be rude, and he just continues on his way to change._ _ _ _

____Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the restroom, Bucky sees just _how_ right Sam had been in having him wait to go into the drawing room earlier. He’s a mess. Eyes swollen -- the left even worse than the right after that hit he took from Brock -- accompanied by bags under them. There’s still a bit of dried blood around his lip. His face is pale and covered in stubble. His hair’s a mess. Bucky removes his shirt. Strains and grunts as he does. As suspected there’s a purple bruise. _ _ _ _

____Bucky washes up. Runs a brush through his hair to make himself a bit more presentable. He comes out of the washroom to see that Talia has already gotten clothes for him. She grimaces when she gets a glimpse at the bruise on him._ _ _ _

____“That bastard,” she growls. “James, he didn’t ever… when you two…”_ _ _ _

____“No,” Bucky assures her. “Not like that anyway.”_ _ _ _

____She sighs and hands him his shirt._ _ _ _

____“You could have told me, you know,” Talia says. “About you and him.”_ _ _ _

____“You’d have made me stop.”_ _ _ _

____“No, I would have stopped him,” she counters. “Are you suggesting such a thing as a negative?”_ _ _ _

____He glowers for a moment but otherwise shakes his head. Bucky thought that’s what he needed then. A distraction. Something -- _anything_ \-- to keep him from thinking about the pain. _ _ _ _

____“No,” he whispers. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s okay.” Talia steps closer and buttons his shirt for him. “It wasn’t your fault. I just never want to see you being hurt like that again, James. Tell me next time, if such a time comes around, so I can help you sooner. I don’t care who it is, I’ll knock em’ around for you.”_ _ _ _

____A laugh actually runs through him. A real laugh. Bucky desperately needed to laugh at something._ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Natalia,” he murmurs. “For everything.”_ _ _ _

____Talia just nods with a smile._ _ _ _

____They return downstairs just a few minutes later and learn that Sarah was able to speak with Judge Fury before Lord Pierce got his chance. No matter what Alexander tries to say now, Sarah informed her higher ups that she needed to retire. It’s a bittersweet victory._ _ _ _

____Alexander might not have gotten to bring any negative view to the House of Rogers, but his interference has forced Sarah to step down from her seat in Parliament. Whether or not Joseph will be asked to temporarily step aside is yet to be known. Same as who will take Sarah’s place._ _ _ _

____Bucky goes right to Steve’s side. He’s spent too much precious time away from his husband. Steve is drifting in and out of sleep now. Rousing for a few bleary-eyed moments and trying to talk before nodding back off again. According to Peggy, she and Sarah got him to sip a bit of broth and tea while they were gone. It didn’t stay in him, but he managed to get it down. He’s still running a fever and making that wheezing sound with every breath he takes._ _ _ _

____This evening is just a little less somber than the previous one, but still tense and nerve-wrecking. They have the right medicine now, but neither Bruce nor Betty have confirmed that it will be enough._ _ _ _

____Hours begin to dwindle away again. Truvie brings in a light supper. Tomato soup. Bruce insists that Sarah needs to eat and to help her along the way, Bucky decides everyone should have at least a bowl with her. No one argues. By the time they finish, the serving bowl is nearly empty._ _ _ _

____Somehow, and Bucky’s really not sure how, Talia convinces Peggy that it’s okay for her to go home again. To be with her family. That if she has to, she’ll go get Peggy again herself._ _ _ _

____Right after Peggy leaves, Bucky assures Talia that it’s okay if she’d rather go home than stay cooped up here. Talia practically rolls her eyes at him and sits with him on the same settee as before. Truvie elects to stay as well._ _ _ _

____“You think it will work?” Bruce asks Betty just before midnight._ _ _ _

____Bucky looks up from his seat._ _ _ _

____“It makes sense,” Betty says. “And, at this point, we have nothing to lose.”_ _ _ _

____“What is it?” Sarah questions. On the verge of sleep and pulled right out of it in light of their discussion. “What?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s just…” Bruce is filling a syringe. “You know that we’re in the middle of making Steve’s new batch. It won’t be ready for another few days. But, even though this batch,” He taps the box Bucky rescued earlier, “is a bit diluted from not being kept cool, if we mix them both together, it just might be enough to give Steve’s body what it need to recuperate.”_ _ _ _

____“It’ll be a bit stronger than what he’s used to,” Betty explains. “So it should give us a bit of leeway. If my numbers are correct,” she runs over a few papers and calculations, “It should actually start making him feel a lot better in a matter of hours.”_ _ _ _

____A matter of hours. Steve can be better in a matter of hours. Bucky tries not to let the hope in again, but he can’t help it. The emotion squeezes through thick and sturdy walls and practically strangle Bucky._ _ _ _

____“What if it doesn’t work?” Joseph asks. “This might be more potent, but it’s not _Steve’s_ medication.”_ _ _ _

____Something Bucky didn’t think of. The medicine Steve takes has been designed specifically for him. A formula tailored from and for his own DNA._ _ _ _

____“If it doesn’t work,” Bruce answers. “Then we have to hope he holds on for the few extra days it will take for the medicines to be complete.”_ _ _ _

____“What are you waiting for?” Bucky asks. “Give it to him.”_ _ _ _

____Bruce nods, but then hesitates. Glances over to Sarah and Joseph. It makes Bucky want to scream. This is his husband and it doesn’t matter what he has to say. Bruce is expected to listen to the Head of the House. Not Bucky. But Sarah is already nodding in agreement with Bucky. So is Joseph._ _ _ _

____As if understanding -- or at least recognizing -- the hardship of having no voice and not really wanting anything to do with it, Bruce shares a look with Bucky. Eyes apologetic and maybe moving quicker just to make it up to him. Or just because Steve is a friend and he wants to see him well again._ _ _ _

____The needle lines up with Steve’s vein and Bruce pushes down on the plunger. Bucky watches with knots in his stomach as the liquid inside the glass tube slowly drains into his husband’s body._ _ _ _

____Steve scrunches his face. Gasps a bit and opens his eyes. He jerks his arm away just as Bruce is pulling the needle back. Whimpering, Steve looks at at all of them and then grabs at the arm Bruce as just injected. His face contorts and he gets out a few whines instead of words. He’s in pain._ _ _ _

____“It’s okay, Steve,” Bruce comforts. “It’ll pass.”_ _ _ _

____“The burn,” Betty whispers to the rest of them. “His own medicines have a slight burn to it already. This is probably much stronger.”_ _ _ _

____There’s a hand on Bucky’s back. One in Bucky’s hand. Sam and Talia. They all watch Steve as though expecting some miracle when they’ve already been told this might take hours._ _ _ _

____Like Bruce promised, within a few minutes, Steve’s body relaxes again. Sarah helps him drink some water. He doesn’t struggle or fight at all. Just sips at it like it’s the grandest thing in the world._ _ _ _

____“Tired,” he whispers. “M’so tired. I don’t want to… to be sick anymore.”_ _ _ _

____“I know, angel,” Sarah sooths. Kisses his brow and hugs her arm around his shoulders. “Just rest. You’ll be better soon.”_ _ _ _

____Soon. That’s all they can go on. The only thing they can do now is wait._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____Something touches Bucky’s cheek. It’s warm and irritating. Bucky swipes at it, but it won’t go away. His neck is sore. His legs cramped. Must be from how he fell asleep. On the floor next to the sofa. Head right on the cushion next to Steve._ _ _ _

____Fingers pet over his head. Nice. Familiar. Bucky works his eyes open. Light trickles in from the damn crack between the curtains. That’s what’s on his face. Pulling him awake again. That hand touches him again. Pushes the sleep away even more._ _ _ _

____The room is so quiet. Bucky picks his head up and gazes around a bit. Both Sarah and Joseph are sleeping in the armchair. All wrapped up together. Behind Bucky, Talia is curled up on the settee. Sam is slumped over in the other armchair, head tilted to the side and mouth slack. Neither Bruce nor Betty are in the room at all._ _ _ _

____Once again, a hand runs over his hair. Petting. Sweet and soft and every bit as lovely as always. Bucky turns his gaze to the sofa. Sees the most beautiful blue eyes. Sun streaking across cloudless skies._ _ _ _

____It’s happened before. So often in Bucky’s dreams that he’s frightened to think he might actually be awake this time. Staring back at Steve’s loving face. More coherent and aware than he has been in nearly three days. Still pale, but with a touch of color in his cheeks. Eyes still droopy, but focused. Breaths still weak, but no wheezing._ _ _ _

____“Is this a dream?” Bucky whispers._ _ _ _

____Steve smiles a little. Whispers back, “I don’t think so.”_ _ _ _

____Relief shoots through him. Bucky’s whole body tingles with it. Just hearing Steve speak to him again. No longer confused._ _ _ _

____“Bucky…” Steve’s hand slips under his chin. His thumb brushes across Bucky’s split lip. Worry pinches his eyes. “You’re face. Who did this to you?”_ _ _ _

____Even now, after all he’s been through, Steve’s concern falls right back to Bucky. Anger touches his voice. Like he’s already planning on making whoever did this pay._ _ _ _

____“It’s nothing,” Bucky lies. “Don’t worry about that right now. How are you feeling, husband?”_ _ _ _

____Steve blinks. Seems to be trying to pull his thoughts together. As though he’s not sure if he should ignore his worry for Bucky or answer Bucky’s question._ _ _ _

____“I… don’t know really.” Steve gently rattles his head. Answering Bucky’s question. “Not the very well, but… better? What happened, Bucky?”_ _ _ _

____“You were… sick, Steve,” he explains. Sure, Steve might be looking for an answer to the state Bucky’s in, but he might need this, too. “Your medicines were…” Not tampered with. Not yet. Let Steve gather more strength before he finds out all the details. “Well they weren’t working properly.”_ _ _ _

____Steve’s eyebrows pull together. Like he can’t properly piece the memories back together. Things seem scattered for him. Steve is here now. In this moment, but he’s unable to recall what got him here. He takes a peek at all the others in the room and twists his lips._ _ _ _

____“Was it bad?” When Bucky doesn’t answer right away, Steve looks back at him. “Please, tell me. How bad was I?”_ _ _ _

____“I…” The air in Bucky’s throat chokes a bit as he tries to pull it in. “I was so scared. I thought you were going to die.” Tears fill Steve’s eyes. “You weren’t feeling right, were you, husband?”_ _ _ _

____Looking away as though ashamed and unable to keep eye contact, Steve shakes his head. A few tears fall onto his lap._ _ _ _

____Bucky says, “Don’t ever do that again, okay? Promise me, you’ll never do something like that again. You’ll tell me.” Steve wipes at his eyes and nods. “Look at me, husband.” He does. It takes a moment of second-guessing, but Steve looks him in the eyes again. “Promise me.”_ _ _ _

____His lip quivers and he opens his mouth a few times before he can actually do what Bucky wants._ _ _ _

____“I promise.” Steve sniffles and rubs his finger under his nose. “I’m so sorry.”_ _ _ _

____Bucky moves to sit up on the sofa with his husband. It’s a tight fit, but this time Steve is alert enough to make more room for him. Once there, Bucky wraps his husband up the way he’s been longing to do for two days. Steve smothers his face in Bucky’s side. Trembles a bit as he sucks in a few rough breaths._ _ _ _

____“I love you, husband.” Bucky kisses him. “So much. You’re going to be okay.”_ _ _ _

____Steve lifts his chin to look up at him. Once again, his eyes scan over Bucky. Horror flashes across his face. For one brief moment, he mind has come up with an answer._ _ _ _

____“I… I didn’t… hurt you… did I?”_ _ _ _

____The wrong answer. Very, very wrong, but the fear that’s wrapped around Steve is so strong that Bucky can feel his panic._ _ _ _

____“No, no, husband,” Bucky says. “Of course not.”_ _ _ _

____“Then… _who_ , Bucky?” Steve looks at him so desperate for that answer. “Who hurt you?”_ _ _ _

____Instead of giving Steve what he wants, Bucky guides his head back down so he’s nestled against him. Bucky strokes fingers over the side of Steve’s face._ _ _ _

____“There’s no need to worry, husband,” he replies. Might be lying. He’s not sure. “You’re going to be okay.”_ _ _ _

____For a few moments they just stay like that. Soon the room will be bustling about. There will be tears and cries of joy. More tests to be done. Questions asked. Answers told. But for now, Bucky just holds his husband close to him. A small slice of time to hold each other while a new day glows around them._ _ _ _

____Steve is going to be okay. Like Bucky’s promised._ _ _ _

____He just not aware of the price that’s been paid for it._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hi! Welcome back! Thank you to everyone who's been so very patient and have stuck around while I tried to get this chapter done. Again, my apologies for taking so long. I'm hoping and I will be trying to not take so long again. 
> 
> Just in case there are any misconceptions, I just want to make it clear that the reason Steve doesn't say anything to Bucky or Sam about not feeling well is because he's so afraid of what's happening that he's in actual denial that it really is. He's trying so hard to pretend that everything is okay that he's actually convinced himself on some level that he _is_ when it's furthest from the truth and them too late. 
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying their summers! Anyone taking any summer classes, I hope they're going well! 
> 
> So, we're four planned chapters away form the end! For anyone who has sent me headcanons via tumblr, thank you so much for them! I love them and I'll be adding them all to the DVD Extras for anyone who hasn't gotten a chance to and would like to read them. 
> 
> And for your viewing pleasure ((sorry, given the nature of the chapter these aren't so very happy :/ )):
> 
> First we have Bucky coming into the front room to find Sam with Steve on the floor
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> Needing a moment to himself and heading into the kitchen for that
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> Yelling at Pierce and Brock
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> And a long night of waiting ahead of him
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> The one happy one. Steve waking in the morning before everything goes to hell
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> In so much denial that he takes to scolding Bucky instead of admitting there's something wrong
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> Obviously way too modern for our setting, but Steve trying to sleep on the sofa
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> Really, any time between getting sick and apologizing to Bucky for not telling him something was wrong
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> Well, I hope so much that you enjoyed! Again, thank you for your patience and sticking around! For anyone interested, come and find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	30. i love the song photograph by ed sheeran. which as nothing to do with this. i'm just sharing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor trigger warnings for general dealings grief

The silence is strange. After a full week of bustling about -- of people coming and going, in and out during all hours, tests and results -- the house shudders around the sudden emptiness. It feels so much bigger. Empty even, despite all the things that fill it. The door shuts behind Sarah and Joseph, and Bucky leans against it. Breathes out a heavy sigh and soaks in the change.

This is the first time it’s just been he and Steve in the house since that fateful morning. For a moment, Bucky feels cold. He closes his eyes. Forces down the memories that make his body shake and his head dizzy. It’s over. 

Opening his eyes again, Bucky takes in the new feeling that permeates through the house. He can’t quite call it hope. It’s definitely not the dreadful and foreboding feeling that filled every inch of the air those first few horrible days. There’s something else wafting through the rooms and halls. A leftover ghost that haunts the walls and floors and ceilings. Bucky feels as though he’s just waiting for it to pop out of nowhere and bring ruin upon his home. To the happy life he’s been trying to build with Steve. 

Not liking this aversion to the rooms that have opened up and taken him in when so much chaos wrapped around him, Bucky pushes away from the door. There’s one room he needs to face in particular. 

The drawing room is still shaking with nerves. For a moment, Bucky can only stand there. All the curtains are still drawn closed. Shadows are splashed over everything. Hugging the furniture and clinging tightly to the once happy piano. The threat of Death lingers in the corners of the room. Bucky wants to chase it away. It’s not welcome here.

First thing Bucky does is pull open the curtains. Sunlight comes streaming in for the first time in days. Chasing away all the shadows trying to dampen the room by their presence. A few stick around anyway. Hiding under the sofa and piano as they ready to pounce and take over again. Bucky pays them no mind. They’re insignificant. He can beat them. 

Though it’s still cold out, Bucky figures it might be nice to open the windows. Let the crisp, winter winds come in and freshen up the stuffy air in here. Winter. For so many years Bucky feared it. Looked upon the season -- even with all the revelries and merriment it contained -- as death. Nothing but a frozen wasteland that took over as the world waited for life to bloom again. Ever since that day so many years ago, Bucky’s thought of himself as winter. 

He’s beginning to think that he’d been wrong. Winter isn’t death. It’s a season of change. A chance to fix what’s been broken, to wipe the slate clean, a fresh start. No, winter isn’t death. Winter is new beginnings. 

That’s what today is. A fresh start. Things will be different. No matter what Bucky does, he can’t turn the clock back. He can’t change what happened with Rebecca, can’t change what happened with Brock, can’t change what happened with Lord Pierce. But he can move on. With Steve. With his family because Steve’s allowed such a luxury out of the goodness that makes his heart. With his new House. 

Bucky glances up at the ceiling. There’s no need to try to chase anything else away. Whatever remains will leave in time. Right now, there’s somewhere else Bucky wants to be. 

The climb up the stairs is almost strange today. He’s made the trip a few times over the past week, but this time the second floor isn’t empty. His husband is already up there and Bucky smiles when he opens the bedroom door. 

Steve is asleep in the bed, but the pillows have him propped up. A ray of light sneaks in through the far window. It pirouettes through Steve’s golden hair. Casts a sweet, loving glow around him. He looks so peaceful. Bucky slips into the room quietly so as not to disturb his resting husband. He’s improved greatly, but both Bruce and Betty have agreed it’s best for him to take things easy. A week of bedrest. A week of being taken care of. 

That’s not going to be simplest thing for Steve to do. Bucky already knows that. He’ll get antsy and restless. Probably end up feeling like a burden again. His husband is going to hate it. 

Even more so when Sarah steps down from her position at the end of the week. 

There’s been an announcement printed in the papers that Lady Rogers will be addressing City Hall publically. It’s standard procedure of course. The public hasn’t been made aware yet why she’s addressing them, but that doesn’t lessen the stress that it’s going to cause. For Steve especially. He’s been working closely with Sarah ever since receiving his position in the Judiciary Bureau. To have her gone and replaced with someone who might not see eye to eye on the cases Steve tries to reopen will be horrible for him. All Steve wants to fight for is justice for those who deserve it. To have that ability taken away from him will be downright tormenting.

This is going to be a huge change not only for the House of Rogers but quite possibly for Parliament. The Lord and Lady Rogers have been two of the most vocal representatives trying to push for change. Looking for progress and fairness. Take them away and the support might go with them.

A few months ago, Bucky might have sneered at the very idea. Things were fine the way they were. No need for change. Maybe Society wasn’t perfect, but it was the world Bucky knew. Now, Bucky sees the everything so differently. As though he’d been living with his eyes closed for all these years. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Bucky watches Steve sleep. Keeps a close eye on the rise and fall of his chest. He’s still breathing. No horrible noises. In and out. Just like earlier. Just like yesterday.

Bucky reaches over Steve and brushes the hair over his brow away. To allow the sunbeam to play with those rebel strands as well. Just that light touch seems enough to wake his husband. Steve breathes in a deep breath through his nose and his eyes open. They scan the room for a moment -- not surprising seeing how this is the first time in over a week he’s woken in here and not the drawing room -- and then his eyes set on Bucky. A smile lifts up on his mouth. 

“Hi,” he whispers. Reaches for Bucky’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Is everyone gone?”

“Yes,” Bucky says. “It’s just us again.”

“Us,” Steve muses. “Still…” He cuts himself off and closes his eyes. For a second, Bucky worries he might be feeling too sick to converse at all. It’s happened. Steve’s strength hasn’t fully returned. But then Steve says, “Are you going to make me stay in here?”

So it begins. Bucky chuckles and presses his lips to Steve’s brow. Those few hairs slip back down to tickle his nose.

“You’re forbidden to leave this bed without proper authorization, husband,” Bucky replies. “And, yes, that is an order, my dear headship.”

A small groan escapes Steve’s throat. He rests his head back against the pillows and sighs.

“If you insist.” 

He’ll put up a greater fight when he’s feeling even better, Bucky’s sure. 

The slightly playful expression on Steve’s face pinches to one of discomfort before Bucky can respond. He shivers. 

“Are you alright?”

Bucky tries to calm his pounding heart. Even if Steve isn’t feeling alright, Bruce and Betty expected this. Steve’s body has gone through a lot. It needs time to get better. 

“Yes,” Steve answers, though Bucky can hear the strain. When Steve opens his eyes, Bucky’s sure to meet him with a doubtful glare. His husband twists his lips and admits, “It’s my stomach. And I’m… I’m a little cold.”

As though either of those things are something to be ashamed of, Steve’s lowered his head. Fixing a hand under his husband’s chin, Bucky guides it back up. Has Steve look at him again.

“I’ll go light a fire,” he says gently. Thumb running across Steve’s jaw. “Would you like me to fix you something to eat? Some soup maybe?”

Steve, taking hold of the hand at his chin and nuzzling into Bucky’s palm, shakes his head. 

“Would you stay with me?”

“Of course I will.” Bucky goes to move so he can light that fire he spoke of. At first, Steve just holds on tighter. Like he’s afraid Bucky might not come back. “Steve, I’m… I’m just going to light the fire. Okay?”

Before leaving, Bucky tucks the blankets up over Steve’s shoulder. His husband pulls them tighter and snuggles against the pillows, eyes falling closed again. 

It only takes a few minutes for Bucky to get a fire going. Warmth slowly spreads through the room. Bucky fusses with the wood in the fireplace a bit and when he turns back around, Steve is sleeping again. 

Smiling, Bucky claps his hands clean before rising to his feet and making his way back over to the bed. Steve probably hasn’t fallen into a deep slumber yet so he might wake when Bucky gets into bed with him. Which he has every intention of doing. It’s been too long.

“I love you, you know,” he murmurs. 

Tears prick at his eyes when he thinks just how close to losing Steve he had been and the need to be near him is suddenly overwhelming. The feeling drowns him. Cuts Bucky off from every other emotion and he can barely remember peeling the blankets back, but now he’s crawling into the bed with his husband. 

Like he figured, Steve wakes again. Despite the short time sleep had him, he looks a little confused. As though maybe he doesn’t remember falling asleep at all. 

“Bucky?”

“Sh,” Bucky hushes softly. Pets a hand over Steve’s head. “It’s okay, husband. I’m okay. I just… I’m going to hold you.”

“You… you are?”

Steve is looking at him as though Bucky’s offered a most precious gift. Like the idea of being held in his arms is something he thought he’d be denied. 

“Come here,” Bucky says as he wraps Steve up. Secures him in his embrace and lets him clasp a hand over his left wrist. 

It’s quiet for a little while as Bucky runs over Steve’s expression. Steve lays still in his arms. Fighting the sleep his body wants, that much Bucky can tell. Every now and then, Bucky can feel his husband tremble. 

“You’re afraid,” Bucky guesses. Pleased with realizing he’s learned so much about his husband that he can make such a guess. “Aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer that right away. Instead, he presses his temple against Bucky’s side and holds onto him tighter. 

“You could…” Steve hesitates. “You have plenty of evidence. A witness even.”

 

“Steve, what?”

“I wouldn’t contest it, of course. I would understand.”

“Understand? Steve, are you…” A breath catches in Bucky’s throat as Steve’s words begin to take meaning in his mind. “Do you think I want a divorce? Because of what happened?”

It’s possible. Just like Steve said. Bucky has very reasonable grounds to declare Steve as an unsuitable headship. The daily medications alone could make the right judge rule against Steve. It’d be a stretch of course. Years ago, it would have been as simple as a heartbeat. Nowadays it’s much harder to prove a divorce is warranted for such reasons, but someone like Judge Stern, for example, would probably have no problem siding with Bucky. The notion -- the idea of a person’s disabilities determining the worth and trust of anyone in Society or not -- is still being fought against with Steve’s parents at the frontline of the fight. For now. 

His husband shakes against him. Body fighting off the emotions that have probably been stewing since he woke that morning last week after it all happened. 

“I never wanted you to see me like that, Bucky,” Steve whispers. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Steve.”

“It could happen again.”

This time, Steve’s words are accompanied by a slight brush of his fingers over Bucky’s lip. The spot still has a cut over it. The area around his eye is still black and blue and the bruise on his ribs is taking longer to heal. According to Bruce, it can take up to six weeks.

Bruce worried that the blows Bucky took to the spot might have caused his ribs to fracture. Upon further examination, he concluded that was not the case. Bucky’s ribs are just bruised, but the bruising is bad. An ugly dark purple patch of skin now dotted with even uglier spots of yellow. The swelling has started to go down, but it’s still hard for Bucky to breathe in too deeply. It still hurts when he bends over. Every now and then -- more often than not -- it decides to make its presence known with a shocking pain that spasms through Bucky. 

Bucky’s done what he can to keep Steve from seeing how badly he was hurt there. He doesn’t need him worrying even more. 

They’ve been over -- in great detail since Steve refused to be satisfied with the short version -- what happened that night at Lord Pierce’s. Steve knows his medicines were tampered with and that it was done to lure Bucky into giving away more information about the House. He knows that’s the reason Sarah has to retire. And he knows what Bucky endured at the hands of Brock Rumlow in order to get him well again. 

He _doesn’t_ know about the recording. And Bucky intends to keep it that way as long as he’s able to. 

Once Steve’s health started improving, Bucky worried that maybe there’d be some anger directed at him for doing what he’d done. Going against what the House wanted and acting on his own. No one -- not even Steve -- has said a word about it. 

Everyone seems to agree that it’s highly unlikely for Lord Pierce to try such a tactic again. After all this, Bruce has also decided that either he or Betty -- who agreed wholeheartedly -- will be delivering the packages from now on. No exceptions. 

“If it happens again,” Bucky says. “Then I’ll take care of you.”

Steve shakes his head. He, for his own reasons, won’t accept that answer. An arm wraps around Bucky’s waist and Steve holds onto him as though fearful he might disappear. 

“I can’t ask that of you. You never even wanted this. Never wanted--”

“I’m _not_ leaving, Steve.”

“They _hurt_ you, Bucky. That son of a bitch put his _hands_ on you.” Steve seems to struggle with what he wants to say next. Anger spiking like a rising temperature. “ _Again_. And it’s because of me. I can’t let that happen again.”

“ _You_ didn’t do anything, Steve.” Bucky runs fingers through Steve’s hair. “They made you sick to get to me to get to your mother. A very convoluted plan, if you ask me.”

Steve scoffs an unamused laugh. “The epitome of Lord Pierce. Convoluted. And now my mother has been forced into retirement. Because of me.”

 _Let’s knock some sense into him_ , his hands say.

 _Be quiet_ , Bucky tells them. _He’s scared_.

More importantly, Steve’s sharing that fear with him. He’s not holding it in as he’s done in the past. Bucky couldn’t be more thrilled. And yet somehow irritated at the same time. Because there’s a part of him that agrees with his hands. Bucky so badly wants Steve to see what he already knows. That this isn’t his fault. 

Instead of knocking that sense into Steve, Bucky’s hands secure his husband’s face between them. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, you listen to me,” he says. “Yes, Alexander Pierce got what he wanted, but only in a sense. Your mother is going to step down from her position, but if it was up to Lord Pierce he would have exposed your parents for hiding your mother’s illness and tried to discredit all the work they’ve done. He _can’t do_ that now. We beat him to it. Maybe it’s bittersweet, but we beat him all the same.” Bucky removes his hands. His arms pull Steve in for a hug. “And if you really want to place blame” -- his heart twists with the thought -- “then you can start by blaming… me. If it wasn’t for me then--”

“It could happen again,” Steve repeats. Interrupts with a subtle change of topic. Seems he’s not really interested in playing that game with Bucky after all. “What if something happens to Bruce? I never even thought of that. If I can’t get my medicine anymore then that’s what’ll happen. I’ll be that sick kid you remember. I’ll…”

“We’ll talk to Bruce,” Bucky says. “If you’re worried about that. But, Steve, even if that does happen, even if you can’t get your medicines and you’re not healthy the way you are now, I’m still not leaving. I’ll take care of you.” He squeezes his arms tightly around Steve. Tight enough that his left arm makes a few noises as it keeps up with what Bucky wants it to do. “I’m with you to the end of the line, husband.”

Once again, Bucky is met with silence. It lingers on long enough that Bucky would think Steve’s fallen back to sleep if not for the stiff way he’s in his embrace. Not pushing his husband to answer, Bucky just keeps moving his fingers through Steve’s hair until he tries to move away. 

Steve lifts himself up so that he can look straight into his eyes. There are tears his. Held back, but glistening in the soft glow of the fire.

“But… _why_?” Steve whispers. “Why would you be so willing to live with such a burden?”

A bit of Bucky’s heart breaks at that. No matter how much he tells him, Steve still fears that’s what he is. A burden. It’s not hard to understand why. The idea has been so deeply ingrained in him by Society that a few words from the husband who didn’t choose to be here in the first place is not enough to change that. To untie the knots so tightly secured. 

That’s okay. It is. Bucky will pick at them, one by one, until they unravel -- as much as he can get them to. 

Bucky places a hand at the side of Steve’s face. His thumb brushes under Steve’s eye just before a tear can escape.

“Because, husband,” he says. “Because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I just… I didn’t know it.”

Steve’s mouth falls open as though he means to respond and loses whatever he wanted to say. Instead, he just blinks and then stares at Bucky like he’s shocked. 

“Bucky…” Steve breathes. “I… _thank_ you. I love you so much.” He starts to lean in and pauses just before their lips would meet. “Will you kiss me?”

Answering that with a kiss itself, Bucky pulls Steve in close. The feel of Steve’s lips against his is paradise. It’s been so long. So, so long. Bucky’s entire body lights up when Steve’s hands gently move up his sides. The touch is so soft. A sweet breeze tickling skin on a hot summer’s day. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. Their brows are pressed together and lips keep seeking the same touch over and over. “We… we shouldn’t…” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “But I need to feel you close. I’ve missed you. Please?”

A whimper slips off Bucky’s lips as he brings them in to catch Steve’s again. He can feel all the emotions -- fear, joy, anger, hurt, hope, _love_ \-- begin to boil over. And suddenly, it’s just too much. For both of them. 

Tears mix in with their mouths as they continue kissing. It’s wet and sloppy and yet they go on that way. Both kissing. Both crying.

Now that they’re alone again -- alone and close -- everything has caught up. All Bucky’s been thinking about is how close he had been to losing Steve. Steve had been staring Death in the face. Even plagued with such disorientation, Steve had still known enough that his life was fading out. 

“Don’t cry,” Steve murmurs between kisses. “I won’t let anyone touch you again.”

“Oh, Steve.” Bucky wipes tears away from both of them and keeps on kissing. “I don’t care about that.” He deepens their kisses. “Brock Rumlow can hit me twice as hard.” His ribs scoff at that -- the bruise pulsing like a heartbeat of a reminder -- but they don’t protest. Steve tugs him closer and Bucky has to climb into his lap. “All that matters is you.”

“No, no.” He’s starting to undo the buttons of Bucky’s shirt. “I’ll never let that happen.” Steve starts kissing across Bucky’s clavicles. “He’s never going to get _near_ you again.”

A shudder flies up Bucky’s spine. Powerless to stop it, Bucky allows it to spread throughout his body. It feels so good. So right. 

“You’re okay, Steve,” Bucky says while sucking light, red marks along Steve’s neck. Maybe the words are more for himself than for Steve. Steve is here. Right here and so much better. For the first time, Bucky’s really starting to believe it. “You’re okay.”

Steve’s already worked Bucky’s shirt open. Bucky moves his lips away from Steve’s neck only to pull his nightshirt over his head for him. 

“I’m okay,” Steve agrees as his tongue passes over Bucky’s nipple. His hands keep caressing Bucky’s sides. Such a light touch but doing so much to Bucky anyway. “And you’re okay. You’re okay. I have you.”

Yes. Steve has him. He means what he says. That he’ll do whatever’s within his power to keep Bucky safe from Brock and Lord Pierce. Bucky’s sure he’ll even do that while risking his own reputation. His own safety. 

What Steve might not know, is that the feeling is mutual. Bucky will do anything to keep Steve out of harm’s way. No matter what that means for him. 

Quite the pair they make. 

The thought almost makes Bucky chuckle through the few tears that still fall. He’s still straddled over Steve’s lap as he begins to lavish his husband in so many gentle kisses he can’t even begin to count. Steve’s hands never leave him as Bucky’s kisses get lower and lower. Not until Bucky reaches the brim of Steve’s night pants and starts slipping them down. 

“You don’t…” Steve breathes out sweetly while Bucky continues to press his lips to the tight curls peeking out from under Steve’s pants. “You don’t have… to.”

From his spot just over Steve’s waist, Bucky flicks his gaze up to him. To see the daze behind Steve’s tear-filled eyes. Ever since being intimate with each other, Steve rarely allows Bucky to really pleasure him this way. A graze of the tongue along his erection or a light suckle over the tip. Nothing any more than that. 

Lifting his chin a bit, Bucky says, “I know I don’t have to. I’d like to though. Do you… do you not like that, husband?”

“No, I…” Steve trails off with blush. “I do. I just… I never want you to feel… to think you…”

“Oh, husband.” Bucky chuckles softly and begins to slide Steve’s pants down. “Are you worried I’d feel obligated? Because you’re my headship?”

Steve goes to answer, only to fall short when Bucky lets his tongue skim along his lower lip. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “I didn’t…” He makes an undignified sort of sound when Bucky licks over the head of Steve’s cock. Just a breath of a touch with the suggestion of more to come. 

“It’s never been that way, Steve,” Bucky assures him. “I want to do it. For you. I want to make you feel good. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.” 

The blush that fills Steve’s face -- even darker than the one from before -- indicates that yes, yes he’s heard the rumors about Bucky and how he’s bed partners in the past. How he’s always taken great care to spoil those he lays with. To shower them with attention and pleasure and send them home smiling. Bucky doesn’t mind those rumors. 

“Well?” Bucky whispers. Hangs his open mouth just above its destination. “Would you like to know if they’re true?”

All he can hear is Steve’s heavy breaths. His husband’s legs have parted slightly. Bucky slides his hands along Steve’s inner thighs. Causes both a shiver to run through them and his legs to spread a little more. 

“I…” There’s a whimper that drowns out Steve’s voice. “I… Bucky… yes… please…”

Pleased with this slight change in roles -- in the chance to pamper his husband for a change -- Bucky swirls his tongue over the head of Steve’s erection. Increases the pressure a little and makes Steve breath catch. He releases a broken moan when Bucky swallows a bit more. The sheets ruffle beneath his knees, providing soft encouragement as they shape around him and give Steve something to hold onto. 

This is something Bucky’s always enjoyed. To feel the soft, subtle ways his partner comes undone beneath him. A heavy breath. A sweet moan. A tightened body. A dazzling experience of trust as layers are peeled back one by one. 

But this is Steve. His husband. The one who’s taken every step to make sure that Bucky’s always felt safe. Protected and loved. Bucky wants -- _needs_ , even -- for this to be different. Though it’s always been different with Steve, this is Bucky’s chance to devote himself fully to Steve’s pleasure. To make the night sky shimmer in unprecedented colors and brightness for his husband.

Steve is, by no means, a small man. Proportionate everywhere. Bucky slowly adjusts himself so that he can take more of his husband into his mouth. It causes Steve to push his hips up. Like he just can’t help it. The tip of Steve’s cock nudges the back of Bucky’s throat and makes him cough a little. He can feel Steve try to withdraw. Knows an apology is about to come. Rather than let his husband do either of those, Bucky takes hold of Steve’s hips to keep him still and pushes down on the slit with his the flat of his tongue. At the same time, his lets his fingers brush against the underside of Steve’s testicles. 

The noise Steve makes when Bucky does that is unguarded and unrestrained. Unlike any noise Bucky’s heard from him. Bucky smiles and does that again while lifting back up to just swirl his tongue over the top of him again. His husband likes that. Likes the teasing, even if he’s starting to crave rhythm. Which, given the small lifts of hips, he is. Only Bucky’s not ready to give that to him yet. 

It’s always been Bucky under Steve’s spell. Swept away in a current of feelings. Bucky wonders if Steve might drift away as he does if he keeps this up. Which Bucky does for quite a while. Keeps teasing with small promises of more but never _quite_ giving it to Steve.

A hand comes to rest on Bucky’s head as he gives Steve one long lick from base to tip. Steve’s fingers tug gently at Bucky’s hair. At first, Bucky thinks he wants something. That’s not it though. Steve’s taken hold of him as if he just _needs_ to _touch_ Bucky. Cling onto him as his breaths become deeper and deeper. 

“Bucky…” Steve whimpers. A sweet whine follows. “I… I don’t think…” He needs a moment to swallow hard and catch his breath, but Bucky doesn’t let up on what he’s going. Soft, teasing suckles at the head. “I don’t think… I can reciprocate…” 

Bucky laughs with Steve still in his mouth. Leave it to Steve to worry about such a thing right now. All Bucky wants Steve to do right now is feel. So Bucky uses his fingers again. If Steve had more to say it’s overpowered by the moan he lets out. The grip he has in Bucky’s hair tightens. Bucky hums. Feels the vibrations pulse around Steve. 

“Bucky…” Steve’s voice is a whisper and it beats contently as it rests along Bucky’s soul. “Please… oh… I… Bucky…” 

Something about the way Steve tries for words makes Bucky think he’s attempting to hold onto coherency and losing. That’s not easy for Steve, Bucky knows that. So he presses his fingers into that spot some more. Swirls his tongue again to make Steve gasp and shake and shout out to the blissful room around them.

“ _Mmm_ …” Steve whole body is tight. “B-Bucky… oh god I… I want… m- _more_ …” The request shoots through Bucky a burst of fire. Steve. Wanting more from him. Letting go of whatever restraint has kept him back and dissolving to a puddle of pleasure and thinking of what _he_ wants. “Oh… _please_ … _please_ more.”

Giving Steve what he desires, Bucky finally takes him fully into his mouth. Lets his tongue push down over the tip and presses his fingers against the spot Steve enjoys the most. 

Bucky’s mildly aware of the blood pooled between his own legs and the pulse that hits against that bruise, but it doesn’t matter. He’s much too concerned with pleasing Steve. Everything else melts around him. Disappears and leaves only this moment. This glorious moment with Steve trembling beneath him. Whispering his name and wanting more from him. Coming apart as he lets go of that last bit of himself and just exists for Bucky. It’s exhilarating.

He’s acutely aware of every reaction Steve’s body has. The rise and fall of his chest. The way he swallows hard between every few heavy breaths. His taut muscles. All the shivers that run through him. His fingers are still clinging through Bucky’s hair and every time his name falls from his husband’s lips, Bucky feels his heart beat even harder. 

“I’m… _Bucky_ …” Steve gulps and sucks in a desperate breath. “ _Oh_ … I can’t… I’m gonna…”

 _Go on_ , Bucky wants to say. _Let go_.

Since his mouth is otherwise occupied, Bucky settles for increasing his pace. Adding a bit more pressure with his lips and suddenly there’s another hand gripping his hair and his name is echoing through the room. 

“I… oh my god,” Steve pants. “I can’t… I… oh my god…”

First making sure Steve’s clean before moving away from him, Bucky lifts up. Smiles when he gets a good look at his husband.

Steve is soaked in sweat. Hair damp and sticking to his forehead. The glow of the fire shines off his skin. His eyes are half closed and his mouth hangs open as though he has no strength to do anything else, but the corners of it are turned up. 

“Are you okay, husband?” Bucky asks. Lips kissing up Steve’s body as he moves back towards the pillows.

“Just need to…” He takes in a few breaths. “Rest my. Eyes.”

Bucky chuckles as he pushes the hair at Steve’s brow away again. He wipes a bit of sweat off Steve’s face with the end of his husband’s discarded shirt. Now Steve’s eyes have closed completely, but the grin on his face becomes more defined.

“Get some rest, Steve.”

“Mm.” Steve folds his lips and tries to open his eyes only to have them fall closed again. “I can… try. For you? I mean, I…”

“Sh.” Bucky run his hand over Steve’s damp hair. He gives his hips a tug and Steve obeys. Slips down so that he’s flat on the mattress -- happy to help as usual -- as Bucky fixes the pillows so that they’re under his head. “Sleep, husband.”

Tucking the kind sheets around his husband, Bucky gets a quiet “Okay, Bucky,” from Steve as he makes himself comfortable. Hands pillowed under his head and all wrapped up in sheets that hug him gently, Steve looks adorable. Tuckered out -- maybe more from getting over being ill, but Bucky can imagine it’s mostly from what he’s just done -- and dazed into a dreamy sleep. 

Quietly, Bucky moves to slip off the bed only to have the brim of his pants snagged on. He’s pulled right back onto the bed and into Steve’s arms.

“Stay,” Steve whispers. “Order.”

“An order?” Bucky snickers. “From my headship?”

“Mhm,” he murmurs sleepily. Lips pressing one soft kiss into the back of his neck. “Please?”

Bucky snuggles into Steve’s embrace. Fixes their arms so they’re just as tangled as their legs and the blankets around them. His husband is already snoring.

“Forever, Steve,” Bucky whispers. “Forever.”

***

“Bucky, _please_?”

From inside the bathroom, Bucky smiles at his reflection with a quick shake of his head. The way Steve whines makes him chuckle.

“No!” he shouts back. 

He can hear Steve grunt and huff and right now he probably has his arms pinned over his chest. 

“But it’s been _five_ days!”

Bucky steps away from the sink and into the doorway. Sure enough, he catches his husband with the same disgruntled look he’s been wearing for nearly two days whenever this comes up. Arms crossed. Just as Bucky suspected, Steve hates this.

Hates having his meals brought upstairs to him. Hates being watched like a hawk -- Steve has taken the week off and Bucky’s been given permission for the same -- every time he moves at all. Hates being stuck inside even though the weather has not been nice enough to really go out anyway. He just hates this whole thing. 

“And in _two_ days it will be a week,” Bucky says, alerting Steve to his presence. “ _Then_ you can get out of bed.”

Though he can sympathize with his husband, there’s no way he’s letting Steve out of that bed for anything other than use of the bathroom and the _occasional_ trip to the library together until Bruce and Betty come back at the end of the week. When they give Steve a clean bill of health and bring his new batch of medicines over, Steve will be free again, but until then, Bucky’s not willing to budge. No matter how well Steve’s been feeling. 

He understands why today might be harder than the rest. It’s Friday. Today is the day Sarah will be announcing her retirement at City Hall. All week long, Bucky has seen traces of Steve’s anxiety when his husband thinks he’s not looking. A nervous look pinched between his eyes. Hands forced flat instead of balling into tight fists. Not always paying attention to conversations he’s part of. Maybe that’s why he’s so keen on the playful behavior now. Anything to keep from drowning. 

Normally, Steve has difficulties escaping from the world he lets rest on his shoulders. But there’s been so much more weight added recently, that perhaps this time, Steve just _has_ to close his eyes and pretend the world is how he sees it. Or maybe he’s just humoring Bucky. 

It can’t be easy to sit here while this happens. To be fair, Sarah _did_ request that Steve not push himself to be there at all. Even went the extra step to ensure that by asking Bucky to keep an eye on him. 

“He’ll listen to you,” she had said. “More than anyone else.”

Bucky might not have been so sure of that before all of this, but now that Sarah’s said so, he almost has no choice but to believe it.

But just in case, he says, “And if you try to argue with me, my dear husband” -- Steve looks up at him -- “I shall never again do that thing with my tongue you enjoyed so much.” 

Steve snorts with a rattle of his head before looking away. His gaze creeps back over a few moments later. 

“But not… not really, right?” he asks. A blush sneaking across his face the second the question comes out. 

A laugh bubbles through Bucky as he sits on the edge of the bed next to his husband. Bucky wraps an arm around him and Steve nuzzles into his shoulder. 

“I suppose it is a rather empty threat, but--” And here’s where the teasing ends and the somber begins -- “you know your mom…”

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I know she doesn’t want me there. For good reasons. I understand. I just… I wish I could _do_ something. I _hate_ this.”

Being powerless. That’s something Steve hates more than anything. Just like when he was young and needed help just to keep up with the simplest of tasks. Lord Pierce has now forced him to relive the feeling in a different way. Worse than that, this isn’t something happening directly to Steve. Bucky’s come to learn that Steve is much more inclined to sit back quietly when the crime is against him and only him. When it has to deal with someone else, Steve is not a force to be trifled with. He will go above and beyond to protect who and what he cares about. 

Not being able to do that is like cutting him off from a life force. It makes him a night without stars. An endless black sky while stuck waiting for the sun to rise. 

“I know,” Bucky murmurs. “Steve, I…” The guilt hits him just as hard as it did months ago. This is all his fault. If he had just kept his mouth shut back on the day Alexander Pierce came to him, this wouldn’t be happening. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “This is all…”

“He’d have found another way,” Steve interrupts. “Trust me. He would have.”

“But, Steve…”

“ _No_.”

A whimper grazes along the inside of Bucky’s throat. It’s been quite some time since he’s heard Steve talk like that. His voice coming out sharp and accurate. Hitting the target with absolute precision. A firmness to it that only comes out when Steve is speaking as headship.

“Listen to your husband, Bucky,” Steve says. Slips his fingers under Bucky’s chin to make him look into his eyes. “I do _not_ blame you for this. I have _seen_ what Alexander Pierce is like. That man can make you doubt your own name.” Bucky would think he was exaggerating if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. That day, Lord Pierce had made him feel just so powerless. A worthless cog in a clock that could go on ticking with or without him. “You must have been…” Steve sighs and cups his hand under Bucky’s chin now. “You must have been so scared.”

They’ve only talked about this one other time after Bucky confessed what had happened. Just to get the details so they could work out what should be done.

“I… I don’t really know what I was,” Bucky admits. “Everything was so confusing.” Not just his time with Lord Pierce, but _everything_. Life, at that time, was so hazy. Lost in a fog that rolled in one fateful evening and just got thicker and thicker. Until, one day, it just started to clear. And there was Steve. “I just know that I was sorry as soon as it happened. I’m… I’m still sorry.”

Steve leans in and kisses his cheek.

“I know. And it’s okay. I promise.” Steve takes both of Bucky’s hands and squeezes. Keeps squeezing the left. “Maybe… maybe this is for the best anyway. Mom is… she’s…”

Not doing well, is what Steve can’t bring himself to say. Ever since the afternoon she walked in and found Steve so ill on the sofa in the drawing room, she hasn’t recovered her strength. She and Joseph have called every evening and every evening she sounds more tired than the last. Hopefully, after today, she can rest and regain some of what she’s lost. Even if it’s only for a little while. Bruce says the best they can ask for is summer. And that it’s wishful thinking. 

Bucky means it when he says he loves Sarah like another mother. The truth of that hit him so hard that afternoon she’d asked to speak to him alone. When she held him in her arms as he broke down in heavy tears of guilt and shame after she swore to him she’d never let anyone hurt her son. Bucky. She had been talking about Bucky -- wanted to make sure he felt safe and protected -- even after she found out what he’d done. If there’s anyone who sees life the way Steve does, it’s Sarah. She’s a gift the world is going to lose. 

“Have they picked her replacement?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t want to think about Sarah’s rapidly failing health either. 

Steve shakes his head. Answering the question while also deep in thought. Thoughts provoked, Bucky thinks, by the question itself. 

“No,” he whispers. Half distracted and his hand still squeezes around Bucky’s. “It’ll… take some time.” Steve rattles his head. Shakes whatever thoughts had been stirring and gives Bucky a shrug. “There’s always debates and arguing and a whole fiasco when choosing someone’s replacement. Never an easy course. They’ll announce it in a few weeks, I’m sure.”

“You know, Steve, we can always listen to your mom’s announcement,” he says. It’ll be on the radio of course. “She didn’t forbid that. Will that help?”

No sudden surprises then. If they listen. Hearing all that goes on today might be enough to soothe Steve’s nerves for a bit.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Steve asks as if he’s been thinking the same.

“Of course not.” Bucky kisses his husband’s hand. And in an attempt to lighten the mood again, says, “You do remember being headship, don’t you?”

It works. A little. The tension lifts enough that it can be felt. A quick ray of light breaking between dark grey clouds. Steve grins.

“I may have forgotten, my Sweetheart,” Steve says. “You’ve been rather bossy lately.”

Throwing his hand over his heart, Bucky fixes an exaggerated look of shock on his face.

“Well what would Society think of us now, husband?”

“Probably more of the same,” Steve comments as he wraps Bucky’s waist in his arms to hoist him onto his lap. Bucky giggles at the sudden pull and cuddles against Steve. “How indecent of us. Me letting you get away with such disrespectful behavior.” Steve tsks. Runs his lips so lightly against Bucky’s neck it makes his skin shudder beneath the touch. “Perhaps I should reprimand you, my rambunctious little husband. Show Society what sort of headship I really am?”

Bucky’s trying to think of an answer. Unfortunately, all he can really think about is Steve’s hands slowly untucking his shirt. The feel of them as they make their way up his sides. Those lips still ghosting along his neck and heading towards his collar. And then the pain that shoots through his body when Steve presses his hand a little too hard into that bruise still marring Bucky’s side. The spot that Bucky’s been trying to ignore all week. 

Hissing, Bucky winces and tries to pretend it didn’t happen at all. He wants his husband to keep touching him that way. To have his lips teasing the side of his neck. It’s pointless though. Of course it is. The very second Bucky reacts, Steve is reacting with him. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. Quickly. An urgent apology accompanied by a soothing hand skimming along the angry spot. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky could kick himself for not steering Steve’s hand away from there quickly enough. But Steve pulling him onto his lap didn’t hurt. It’s been starting to feel better. Of course _now_ it flares up. “Really, husband--” Bucky leans in to try to kiss Steve “--it’s fine.”

But Steve dodges his mouth. He doesn’t even say a word as his fingers carefully undo each button of Bucky’s shirt. Though Bucky knows he has nothing to actually fear, his skin pricks with tiny bugs of anxiety. Steve has seen the bruise. Mostly in passing. Bucky’s been careful to not let him see it more than necessary. By now, it looks a lot worse than it feels. Not that it’ll matter to Steve. 

His husband is gentle as he works Bucky’s shirt off. Moving it down his shoulders and sliding it off his arms. One by one. Bucky tries to hold his breath when he twists a little to assist. Now that attention’s been brought to it, it hard _not_ to feel the pain. 

It’s even worse to see Steve’s face scrunch up when he takes a good look at it. The very tips of his fingers graze over the hurt spot. So lightly it actually makes Bucky’s skin quiver under it. He wants to tell Steve it’s not that bad. That it really _is_ worse than it looks. But Steve is shaking his head as though this is one of the most horrific things he’s ever seen. 

“Lay down,” Steve whispers.

Bucky’s mouth opens to say what’s in his head. Only nothing can come out but air. He listens. Lays back against fluffy pillows and thick blankets. Steve hovers over him. Eyes focused on Bucky’s body. They scan over him. Searching for minor cuts and bruises that Bucky might be hiding from him. 

There’s none there -- none that Bucky’s aware of anyway -- but Steve still looks. When he’s satisfied that the one bruise is the only one, he sighs and then slowly, carefully, applies his lips over it. He doesn’t say anything and neither does Bucky as Steve continues to do that. Kisses every single inch with so much tender care that Bucky would think Steve had the ability to heal it if such a thing was possible. 

While Steve’s lips continue to ghost over the bruise, his hands trail up Bucky’s sides. Heart rate picking up, Bucky lets out a soft sigh. There’s something about this that’s so sensual, so _erotic_ , that his whole body tingles with it. He almost whines when Steve suddenly lifts away and slips off the bed. 

“W-where’re you going, husband?”

Bucky’s unable to muster up the authority he’s been using this whole week. In fact, his voice barely even comes out, and what does is so utterly pathetic he cringes at himself. 

But Steve smirks at him as he walks away from the bed. The look in his eyes -- that hot smolder and cool glaze -- suggests he’s heard the same thing in Bucky’s voice. He’s lost his edge.

“The restroom. That _is_ still permitted, is it not?” Steve teases. Bucky blushes and nods. “Then, I’ll be right back. Don’t you move, my Sweetheart.”

Before going into the restroom, Steve pauses by the radio. He turns it on and fiddles with the copper nods until the station he wants comes in clear. Two people’s voices come through. A woman’s Bucky doesn’t recognize and the ever-pestering Jonah Jameson. His voice makes Bucky’s skin crawl as he talks about what they’re broadcasting today. Just hearing Sarah’s name come from that man infuriates him.

The anger doesn’t get a chance to last very long since Steve is already coming back. With a folded up cloth in his hands. He sits at the edge of the bed next to Bucky and tells him to keep still. Steve presses the cloth against the bruise and a shock runs through Bucky’s skin at the feel of it. The cloth has been soaked in cold water. After the initial shock, the cold feels good. Very good actually, and Bucky breathes out a contented sigh.

“Has it been bothering you?” Steve asks. “All this time?”

Bucky doesn’t want to lie. He can’t really say yes since he’s been able to ignore the pain. But he can’t say no for the very same reason. Bucky decides on a shrug. 

Steve sighs as he applies the compress with a little more pressure. Bucky can feel the effects. Feel the cool temperature seeping through. 

“I should have been doing this for you the whole time,” Steve says. “It’s my job to take care of you.”

“Nowhere in your vows does it say such a thing,” Bucky answers. His stomach clenches when he’s met with a glower from his husband. “I’m meant to take care of you. Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Steve’s eyebrows stitch. “For what?”

“For letting me. Take care of you, I mean.”

A blush fills Steve’s cheeks. 

“I promised you,” he whispers.

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. “You did. But I know that it’s not easy for you. To relinquish control like that. To let yourself be taken care of. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I…” Steve chuckles a little as he moves the cloth around a bit. “I don’t mind it so much. When it’s you taking care of me.”

The love that blossoms through Bucky is amazing. His life moves for this feeling now. Kneels before it in awe. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to how much he loves this man. He hopes not.

“I love you,” he whispers. He tugs on Steve’s shirt to pull him in for a kiss. “I’ll take care of you forever.”

Steve looks at him with stardust in his eyes. Glimmering sparkles. His mouth opens to respond, but Jonah Jameson interrupts when he announces Sarah’s arrival at the front steps of City Hall where she’ll address the waiting reporters and public.

Both Bucky and Steve look at the radio. Bucky wonders what it would be like to be there. To watch Sarah retire publically from within the crowd. 

“Good afternoon.” Sarah’s voice rings out loud and clear. Bucky can picture her standing in front of a podium. Hair done up nicely. Dressed in her best. Fake smile on her face that would fool the wisest. “Thank you all so much for coming out today. I must start out by saying what a privilege it’s been to work for the Judiciary Bureau for so many years. All this time being able to work with so many different kinds of people in an attempt to bring about help to those who need it most has been a joy and an honor that I will never regret. However, as much as I would love to continue serving our great city, it is my duty and obligation as a member of High Society, to inform you that I am retiring from my position effective at five pm today.”

The crowd around Sarah bursts to life with so much animation and so many questions that if feels as though they’re right there in the room with Bucky and Steve. Already they’re buzzing and picking apart what Sarah’s said, and she’s barely said anything at all. 

Steve’s hand is suddenly in Bucky’s. His eyes are still focused on the radio, so Bucky just gives it a squeeze.

“Please, please,” someone says. Bucky thinks he recognizes the voice of Judge Fury. “Hold all questions until Lady Rogers is done.”

“Thank you, Judge Fury,” Sarah replies. There’s a smile in her voice. “I know this must come as a shock but due to my current health the Court and I feel it is the most appropriate course of action to take at this time. Many of you might be wondering what will come of the progress my husband and I have manage to make in attempts to better our city with justice and fair treatment.” She pauses here and Bucky wishes she could see her face. “It is my hopes that what we’ve accomplished over the years -- the awareness, the increasing tolerance, and search for justice for everyone -- will not wither away just because of my absence. This is the time that we all need to stand together. For everyone to hold strong and demand the change we need to see in this world.”

“Wow,” Bucky whispers. “She’s… she’s good.”

Bucky can hear the smile in Steve’s voice when he says, “She’s just getting started.”

Sarah’s voice continues to chime out of the radio. Bringing an image to Bucky’s mind as she goes on. An angel. Radiant as she is powerful.

“These changes we fight for are not an attempt to upheave tradition or Society, but rather a chance to embrace our differences and lift each other up in ways that only we can. How much have we missed by pointing our noses up at those who don’t fit the mold tradition dictates is needed to fit in in this world? How many beautiful people have gone unnoticed because their outer beauty doesn’t match what’s on the inside? What wonderful things have never gotten a chance to take flight because the minds behind them have been deemed unworthy? Now is the time that we must look around and decide for ourselves. It’s time for a change. Without it, how can we ever reach our full potential? How can we see all the good when we ignore it? Be the change. Make the world beautiful.” There’s a pause and even through the radio it’s clear Sarah needs a moment to keep her emotions in check. “Thank you.”

The crowd erupts again. There are cheers and there’s booing. Praises and insults. Questions being flung from every direction. 

_Will Lord Rogers be keeping his position? Yes, for now. How much time do you have left? I don’t know. Where is your son and his spouse? Away from the public’s eye for the time being. Who will be taking your place? I’m not part of that decision but I’m sure it will be made within a few weeks._

It’s chaotic. 

And yet all Bucky can feel is a sense of peace knowing that the woman who’s just made that speech loves him. Has accepted him and all his flaws like he’s been part of her family since the day he was born. It’s overwhelming and the tears he sheds now aren’t for loss or pain. They’re for the joy in having gotten the chance to know Sarah. To have her in his life, even for such a little amount of time. She’s walked across his heart. And left footprints along the way.

A hand touches Bucky’s face. Wipes some of the tears away. Bucky looks over and finds Steve with tears of his own. He smiles through them.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Steve whispers. 

Steve’s other hand is still tightly tucked in Bucky’s. He brings it to his lips and kisses and needs a moment to respond.

“I…” Bucky’s breath catches. “I know where you get it from.”

His husband’s eyes shine as though he’s just been paid the highest form of compliments imaginable. 

“I hope…” Steve needs to clear his throat. Unclog the words that have gotten tangled up inside. “I hope I’ve made her proud.”

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. Cups his hand under Steve’s chin. “There’s no way you haven’t.”

Fresh tears fall from Steve’s eyes and he leans in for a hug. No hesitation. No worries. Just wants -- _needs_ \-- to be in Bucky’s arms. Where he stays, until they both fall asleep. 

***

Bucky’s at the piano when it happens. Three weeks later. A rainy Tuesday evening with his fingers gliding over the smooth ivory keys that fill the air with soft music. Notes that dance around the room in sweet unspoken words. A song that no one’s ever heard before. Not even Bucky. 

Because his hands are creating it. Bringing to life the emotions that have taken residence inside Bucky and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him or how he’s doing it, but it’s happening. Right now. Fingers meeting key after key and making strange melodies he’s never thought of before. And yet, in a way, he has. Bucky _has_ thought this before. The words would never form. Instead, they take shape in the music he plays now. Brings Bucky to a world never seen. Uncharted and new. Where Bucky’s allowed to be the first person to ever step foot. 

He’s never felt like this before. This isn’t composing. It’s not. The song -- the music -- will be lost once he stops playing, but maybe, just maybe, this is what Steve feels like down in his studio. Maybe this is what all artists feel like. Pouring the soul out. A cleansing of sorts. There’s so much inside of Bucky and it’s all coming out like this. So much easier than trying to put words to it all. 

“Lord Barnes?” 

Bucky’s fingers make a mess of what he’s been doing. Fumbling over keys and forcing the world to reshape around him so fast it makes his head spin. At first, Bucky’s not even sure what just happened. Why reality has crashed down on him again. Until he sees Truvie. And what he sees -- glassy eyes and ringing hands -- makes his stomach fall. 

“Yes? Truvie?”

“It’s… the telephone. For you, sir.”

“Me?”

That’s not right. Steve is the head of their little Household. All phone calls go to him. If, on the off chance, someone _does_ call to speak specifically to Bucky, it would be with Steve’s permission for him to take it. 

“Yes, Lord Barnes. He asked for Lord Rogers, but, I thought… you should take the call, sir. It… it’s Dr. Banner.”

Bucky’s blood runs cold. As though the rain outside has replaced the warmth that should be pumping through him. Chunks of ice that cut up and hurt his heart. 

“Okay,” he whispers. Rises from the bench which no longer offers the familiar comfort Bucky’s come to expect from it. 

_It doesn’t matter how long you wait_ , his legs tell him. _Whatever he has to say isn’t going to change._

Bucky looks down at his feet and realizes he’s paused just a few feet in front of the telephone. He’s gotten up the stairs in a haze. Made his way to where he needs to be. But he doesn’t want to take this call. His legs are right though, and he takes the last few steps. His hands shake as he lifts the earpiece to his ear and the base towards his mouth. For a few seconds, he remains silent. 

“Hello?” he says. Voice so far away he can’t even believe it’s his.

“Uh…” Seems Bruce is surprised that Steve hasn’t answered. “Lord Barnes? Bucky?”

“Yes. It’s me, Dr. Banner. What’s wrong?”

There’s a pause. As though Bruce allows himself a moment to understand why he’s speaking to Bucky and not to Steve. It must suddenly make sense.

“She’s still alive,” he says first. “But… Bucky, he should be here. To say… to say goodbye.”

Bucky thinks he’s said something in response. An agreement of some sort. In fact, he’s sure of it. Because Bruce is saying something else. About Bucky keeping Steve calm and seeing him soon. 

Someone is screaming. A destroyed, desperate sound. 

_No_ , whisper his ears. _That’s not happening. Not this time_.

 _This time_? Bucky questions. 

That’s right. His mother. She had screamed the night his father died. The one and only time he’d ever seen her burst free of the carefully placed restraint that kept her back. 

There’s no one screaming. Steve, his husband, doesn’t know yet. Doesn’t know that Bucky’s going to bring him to visit his mother for the very last time. 

This is no time to panic. Bucky can mourn. Can be sad. But Steve needs him now. Maybe more than ever. The world starts to creep back around him and Bucky realizes that Truvie is there with him. 

“Truvie,” he says softly. “Where is my husband?”

“The library, sir,” she answers.

Still working. He was happy when he was allowed to go back to work the Monday following Sarah’s retirement. Even with such a colossal change. He was glad to return to some sort of familiar routine. 

“Truvie, I, um. I need you to get our coats ready. And…” He takes a moment to consider how he should go about this. “And would you have Stiles ready the motorcar?”

“Yes, of course, Lord Barnes.”

Truvie is already turning to do what’s been requested of her, but, taking note of her tone, he stops her.

“Truvie?” She turns and gives him her full attention. There are tears in her eyes. Same as his. “I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind if you were to accompany us. If… if you’d like.”

An appreciative grin lifts up on her mouth. It doesn’t last. The grin fades and she dabs at her eyes.

“If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I think…” She needs a moment. “I think I’d like to go home. Be with my children. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” 

“I can be there first thing in the morning?”

First thing. Yes, that makes sense. Surely they’ll still be there no matter what happens. 

“That’s fine. Thank you, Truvie.”

She goes then. Off to do what Bucky’s asked of her and Bucky is left alone standing there in the hallway. Not that far from the library. Where his husband is, oblivious to the fact that Bucky is about to shatter his world. 

The door is closed. About two inches of thick, hand crafted mahogany that separates Steve from what’s going on out here. It feels like so much and so little. Bucky gently takes hold of the knob. It’s cold to the touch. Mean. Doesn’t want Bucky to disturb the tranquility it keeps safely tucked inside. Bucky has to ignore it. He turns it and opens the door. 

Steve is at his desk, cluttered in papers and envelopes and files. The table lamp is on. Giving light to what looks disorganized but it’s probably the exact way Steve wants it. 

The library shudders around Bucky. Tries to make him leave. Steve hasn’t even noticed him yet. It’s not too late. Until Bucky clears his throat and his husband glances up. With a smile. Bright. Twinkles in his eyes. And a piece of Bucky’s heart falls. 

“Hi there,” Steve greets. Happy to see Bucky. So happy. “I’m sorry, is it…” He looks around the room as though searching for something. “Is supper ready? What time is it? Is it that late already?”

Supper. Steve is concerned about supper. About the time and keeping Bucky waiting. 

“No, Steve,” Bucky says. 

That’s all the comes out. His throat has picked a horrible moment to close up on him. Bucky shuts his mouth and just stares at Steve. Who rises slowly from his chair. Tilts his head.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Steve.” Bucky steps towards the desk. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He smiles like he might be missing a joke. “What’s going on, Bucky?”

“We have to go,” he says gently. “We have to go to your family’s place.”

The way Steve’s face drops breaks Bucky just a little more. Worn down cracks that spread along his heart and threaten to shatter it to pieces. 

“For… supper?” Steve doesn’t really believe that. The tears are already forming. “Right, Bucky?”

“There’s still… time, Steve,” Bucky murmurs.

“No!” he shouts. “Don’t tell me that! Don’t you… don’t…”

He stops when Bucky gently cups his hands at the sides of Steve’s face. Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, though his husband hardly kisses back. 

“My love,” Bucky whispers. Watches Steve’s head drop. Crestfallen. He kisses the top of Steve’s head and then pets a hand over him. “I’m here, Steve. It’s going to be okay. She’s waiting for you. You can… say goodbye.”

Still staring down at the desk, Steve shakes his head. A shudder runs through his shoulders.

“I don’t… I don’t want to,” Steve mutters. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“I know.” Bucky holds his hand out. “I know, Steve.” Steve stares at his hand like he’s never seen it before. It’s a stranger to him. The unordinary among the ordinary. “Come on, husband.”

When Steve lifts his gaze, the heartache is all over him. In the tears that have already started falling. In the way his lip quivers. In the crinkle of his nose when he sniffles. And Steve takes Bucky’s hand.

 

“My boys.”

A weak, shaky smile lifts the corners of Sarah’s mouth. _My boys_. Sarah’s only child has just walked in to see her for her last moments and she still shares this piece of affection with Bucky. 

Out in the halls, servants are preparing the veils to cover the mirrors and portraits. All the curtains in the whole place are ready to be drawn. The clocks are still ticking, but someone will stop them when it happens. 

In the bedroom, Sarah lays in the large canopy bed. Surrounded by plush pillows and silk linens. She look so frail. So thin. Her cheeks are shallow and there are bags under her eyes. This is not how she looked the last time Bucky saw him. This happened fast. So fast. Her body just unable to keep up with life any longer.

The curtains of the canopy are tied lightly to the long bedposts. Joseph sits there with her. Holding her hand. The machine that gives her oxygen is next to the bed, but it’s not running. Bruce is sitting in the armchair by the window. His bag is at his feet. Opened. A few other family members are in the room, too. Bucky recognizes some cousins from Christmastide even if he can’t recall their names at the moment. 

“Mom?” Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand and goes to the bed. He sits on her other side and kisses her temple. “You’re… how…”

Steve isn’t able to articulate whatever it is that’s running through his head. Which, given the way his eyes dart from Sarah to Joseph and back to Sarah, is a lot. Sarah lifts a shaky hand and places it on his. 

“It’s okay, angel.” Her voice is softer than a whisper. “It’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t answer that. Steve is just staring at her. Bucky’s worried he might be in shock. Just unable to comprehend her sudden deterioration. But then he sucks in a rough breath and kisses her hand.

“Are you in any pain, Mom?” he asks. 

“Mm-mm,” she answers. “Just… tired.”

“You can…” Steve gasps like his throat is suddenly clogged. “You can sleep now, Mom. I’m s-sorry. Sorry, I kept you waiting.”

Bucky stands where Steve left him, fighting back the urge to scoop his husband in his arms. He’s familiar with this pain. Though he didn’t watch his father’s life slowly drift away, he knows what it means to say goodbye. From somewhere else in the room comes a few sniffles. Someone else rushes out. Joseph wipes at his eyes. 

“No, Steve,” Sarah whispers. “Nothing to… apologize for. You’re my angel. Always… always have been.”

“I love you, Mom.”

Steve is trying not to cry. He’s holding back. Keeping it in like he feels the need to stay strong for Sarah. Not let her see how much pain he’s in. 

“Bucky?”

Feels as though his stomach weighs twice as much when he hears his name. Bucky looks up from his feet. Right at Sarah. 

“Yes?”

“Can I… spare…” Sarah takes a few seconds to breathe in deeply. “A moment… of your time?”

She gives him a smile as if she’s making a joke. Which, Bucky realizes with a soft chuckle, she is. Bucky has all the time in the world. It’s Sarah who’s running out of it. And still has the courage to joke. 

“Of course,” Bucky says. Makes his way to the same side Steve is on. “Anything.”

“Alone,” Sarah requests. Eyes roaming to those in the room with them. “Please.”

No one says or does anything. In fact, Steve holds onto her tighter. Until Sarah promises she needs just a minute with Bucky. There’s actually a part of Bucky that wants to object. He doesn’t want to steal any of their time away from Sarah. From Steve especially. 

Still, everyone shuffles out of the room on Sarah’s behalf. The last one to leave is Steve, who keeps his eyes on Sarah until the door is closed. 

Alone with Sarah, Bucky places his hand over the one that Steve was holding. It’s cold. That pulls another smile out of Sarah. Soft and, despite it all, happy. Before saying anything, she gestures to the end table. Assuming she means something in the drawer, Bucky opens it. Inside, there’s an envelope addressed to her. He takes it out and lifts it up. Sarah nods. Bucky opens it.

There’s a folded up piece of paper inside of it and on the outside is a handwritten message that reads: _You were right. The matter has been taken care of quietly. Thank you._

Bucky unfolds the paper and knows it’s an official document. His eyes scan over it a few times before, picking up little things that he recognizes. Illegal experimentations. Arrest. Deportation. Upcoming trial. The Swiss Lands. And a name: Arnim Zola. 

The name reads like lead. Cold and heavy. When everything on the document fits together, Bucky snaps his gaze back to Sarah. There’s a satisfied smirk on her face when she nods.

“No one hurts… my boys,” she whispers. 

This is… Bucky doesn’t even have a word for what this is. Incredible is too mundane. Sarah may not have been able to go after Lord Pierce for what happened to Steve, but she _did_ find the next best thing. The doctor who tampered with his medicines. Dr. Zola. Somehow -- sick and dying -- Sarah tracked down what sources she could and passed the information along to the right people. Who arrested and deported the man back to the Swiss Lands where he’ll go on trial for illegal experiments. No matter what happens now, Arnim Zola will never hurt anyone again. 

“Bucky,” Sarah says. “I need… I need to ask you for… something.”

Putting the paper back in the envelope and stuffing that back where he got it, Bucky takes her hand again.

“Anything.”

“He’s… he’s going to push you away,” she tells him. Steve. She’s talking about Steve. “Don’t… please don’t let him.”

Tears rush to Bucky’s eyes. Unlike his husband, he can’t quite keep them back. She’s right. That’s what Steve is going to try to do. 

“Okay,” Bucky says. Feels the sob building in the back of his throat. “I won’t.”

“You’re the… the best thing that’s ever happened… to him,” Sarah murmurs. Touches Bucky’s cheek with her cold hand. “He’s my angel. And you're his.”

The tears come on stronger now. Sarah promised Steve it’d only be a minute that he’d have to be away and Bucky can’t soak up too much more time, but he needs a moment to compose himself. He hugs her hand to his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything.”

“Promise me… you’ll take care… of each other.”

His voice cracks when he says, “I promise.”

Sarah lets go of the tension Bucky hadn’t noticed until it melts away as she rests against her pillows. She hums contently to herself and then asks Bucky to get Steve for her. 

“Sarah?” Bucky calls when he’s by the door. 

Her head, which had been tilted over to her shoulder, lifts. 

“Hm?”

“I… I love you,” he murmurs. 

Another smile brightens her pale face. Slowly, she brings her trembling hand up to her lips and blows him a kiss.

“I love you, too, Bucky.”

 

Bucky is surprised when Steve lingers out in the hall with him after he got to spend a few minutes alone with his mother. His husband’s eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and he wipes at them with the back of his hand. Bucky doesn’t wait to be asked. Doesn’t wait to see if Steve has something to say. He just gently wraps his arms around Steve and holds him close. 

His husband trembles in his embrace. There’s nothing Bucky can say that’s going to make Steve feel better. Nothing will take the pain away as his husband waits for his mother to die. So Bucky says nothing. He just holds him close and lets him stay tucked in his arms -- running his hands up Steve’s back and through his hair -- until he lifts back up. 

It looks like Steve might want to say something. All he does his wipe at his eyes again. Bucky takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. Maybe they don’t always need words anymore. The squeeze prompts Steve to lift Bucky’s left hand to his lips so he can kiss his knuckles. 

When they go back into the room, Bucky doesn’t leave Steve the whole time they sit there. He holds Steve in whatever way his husband wants. Sometimes just holding hands, sometimes with Bucky wrapped around him, sometimes with him wrapped around Bucky. People are talking still, even Steve and Joseph -- though Steve seems to have trouble doing so. Sharing stories about Sarah and laughing about the past and the smiling for the life of the woman they all love. Until late into the night. Just a few minutes past midnight. 

When Sarah Rogers closes her eyes, and never opens them again. 

***

The whole house smells like fresh flowers. They’re everywhere. In all the corners of all the rooms and placed atop tables and mantles. Candles burn all day and night. A wreath of laurel and black ribbons hangs on the front door to alert passersby that a death has occurred. Mourners come and go all hours. Day and night. 

Almost all of High Society in the area has come by to pay their respects. High Society and lower. And even those below Society. Sarah Rogers touched so many lives. It’s the reason the House of Rogers has not utilized their privilege to use a private parlor for viewing. 

Peggy and Sam were among the first to arrive that weren’t actual relatives. Both of them took their turns holding onto Steve. Whispering promises and insisting they’re both there for Steve. 

“My darling,” Peggy had murmured softly. Kissing the side of Steve’s head. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Steven.”

Steve had nodded and whispered it back and then found himself in Sam’s arms the moment he was no longer in Peggy’s. Sam, too, kissed the side of Steve’s head. 

“We’re here for you, man,” he swore. “Every step of the way.”

When Steve pulled away, he nodded once, wiped at his eyes, sniffled, and said, “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. He isn’t fine. But he continues to act like and insist that he’s fine. 

Steve hasn’t cried much. Not since the night they first arrived. Everytime he starts to, he presses his fingers into his eyes as though he can rid himself not only of the tears but also what’s causing them. In fact, he hasn’t had much of a reaction at all. He’s busied himself with greeting guests and keeping watch over his mother’s body. He won’t talk about Sarah. Whenever anyone brings up a story or treasured memory of her, Steve excuses himself. Though Bucky would like to hear these stories, he follows Steve each time. Steve is forcing himself to be strong when -- Bucky’s sure -- he just wants to fall apart. Bucky fears this might be the start of what Sarah was worried about. Steve is closing off. Not letting the emotions -- or even the ones who love him -- in. Instead, Steve is choosing not to feel anything. Or, at least, choosing only to acknowledge the numbness that’s settled. 

Neither Sam nor Peggy have left, both choosing to accept the invitation from the House of Rogers to stay until the funeral. 

Gabe has come with Sharon and then returned later without her. Bucky never asked, but he can only assume someone is staying with Sharon since Gabe has stayed. Tony and Pepper have been coming and going. In and out whenever possible, but they’re there everyday. 

Steve doesn’t seem to notice much of what’s going on. He goes about the routine. Hours and hours of people coming and going. Of their sympathies and how lovely Sarah was and how she’ll be missed. Some people are genuine. Others sound like their words have been rehearsed. Steve doesn’t seem to care either way. He reacts the same every time. A nod. A handshake -- or sometimes a hug. A sentiment of gratitude. Then the wait for the next person. 

Bucky hasn’t said much in the past three days. With so many eyes around, he can’t really chance it. Not without explicit permission from Steve. A hushed and quiet private conversation is one thing, but when Bucky is standing with Steve -- which is most of the time -- he stays silent as the rules and customs dictate he should unless Steve gives him the go ahead. It’s not something his husband wants and Bucky knows that. At any other time, Steve would be sure people saw that he wanted Bucky to speak. This is different. Steve isn’t himself. 

Oh he’s trying to act like he is. And others are probably fooled by the smile and kind handshake. The appreciation he shares whenever anyone expresses their sympathy. But Bucky can see the pain that’s all over him. The ghostly look behind his eyes. The stiffness in his shoulders. Bucky knows that Steve is hiding. Keeping himself locked behind a carefully built wall of fake grins and false pleasantries. So Bucky does what he can to make this as easy as possible for Steve and plays the part of the good spouse to his headship. The performance traditionalists want to see. 

Neither of them have seen sleep in a bed since the night before they came to say their goodbyes. Every few hours, Steve nods off in a chair. Bucky’s sometimes fallen asleep on the floor by his feet, head in his lap. Steve has insisted that Bucky find proper comfort for himself, but, well, Bucky just wants to be near him. That’s all he cares about. He doesn’t want Steve to go through any of this alone, and unless his husband orders him away, he’s not going anywhere. 

Since the home is open to everyone, Bucky’s not all that surprised when his mother and sister come -- even though his mother’s mourning period for her headship is not yet over. Such a solemn occasion calls for an exception. This is not a place of amusement, and other than Bucky and Steve’s wedding, neither of them have attended any of Society’s events since George’s death.

They go to Joseph first to give their condolences. Winifred, as usual, keeps her expression calm and collected -- a look that can easily be mistaken as cold. It’s not, though. Bucky can see the real emotion behind that. She’s here because she cares that Sarah is gone, and not just out of Societal obligation to make an appearance. 

Rebecca is having a more difficult time keeping her face even. Every time she glances to Sarah’s body -- laid out upon the best linens and draped in a sheer, black shroud -- her eyes fill with tears and she needs to look away. 

When they approach the spot Bucky’s at with his husband, Steve holds out his hand like Bucky’s seen him do dozens of times over the past few days. There’s not even a flicker of any emotion that goes beyond the acceptable, robotic motions that Steve has been delivering since Sarah went. Bucky’s not even sure his husband knows who he’s looking at right now. So many people have come and gone. Steve probably isn’t registering who’s who anymore. Possibly hasn’t been at all. 

“Thank you for coming,” Steve says. Voice close to pleasant, but missing that usual warmth to it.

“Lord Rogers,” Winifred replies. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

 _Your sympathies are appreciated_ , Steve is going to say. An automatic response to the condolences offered. Each time. _Thank you_.

A soft smile -- fake -- twitches the corners of Steve’s mouth. He takes hold of Winifred’s fingers to kiss her hand the way a proper Gentleman of Society greets a Lady. 

“Your sympathies are appreciated,” Steve, indeed, does say. “Thank you.”

After his lips graze her knuckles, Steve lets go and simply stands there. Waiting for them to leave and the next mourner to come. 

For a second, Bucky thinks Winifred is going to glance at him. Her eyes do start to shift towards his direction. She stops herself though. It would be inappropriate to attempt any sort of engagement with him. Bucky’s sole duty at the moment is to tend to his headship’s every need. Right now, that means standing in silence unless otherwise directed. 

“Good luck to you, Lord Rogers,” Winifred tells him and then places her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders. “Come, Rebecca.”

“Y-yes, Mother,” Rebecca whispers. 

Unlike Winifred, she’s unable to keep her gaze from drifting to Bucky. He shares a sad grin with her. Disappointment washes over his sister. He can see it clear as day. Bucky can feel it as well, but he understands. This was hard enough on him when it was his own father. The time was a blur. Some people there because they really cared. Other to put on a show. Bucky doesn’t hold anything against Steve. Even if he badly wants a moment to say something -- _anything_ \-- to his family. 

“Thank you, Lady Barnes,” Steve says. “Rebecca.”

They’ve just turned to leave when Steve suddenly goes rigid. Bucky glances up to see Steve rattling his head. A baffled look darkens his face. 

“Wait…” 

His hand reaches out and grabs only air, but Rebecca turns quickly. Winifred follows right after.

“Yes? Lord Rogers?” Winifred asks. “Can I do something for you?”

“I…” Steve sighs and looks at Bucky. “Rule two,” he whispers. “Tell me when I’m doing something wrong.”

“But… Steve,” Bucky tries to say. “You…”

Before he can voice any objections, Steve kisses his temple. He then gives Winifred and Rebecca a smile.

“Please, excuse my behavior,” he requests. “It’s been a long few days.” Steve puts a hand at Bucky’s waist. “Bucky, why don’t you…” He trails off. Eyes the few nosy people who have taken to watching them and lifts his chin. “Escort your family to the dining room. You may offer them refreshments and take some time with them.”

“Steve, I…” Bucky whispers and then takes that one step to close the distance between them. “Are you sure?” He has his hand on his husband’s arm. 

“I am. It’s what my mother would have wanted.” He says that a little louder. Let’s those prying ears hear exactly how he feels. “Now go on. Do as your husband says.”

People are watching them. Closely. Not just because of what Steve’s said -- and he did nothing to keep his tone down -- but they’re also waiting to see what Bucky does. No matter how untraditional Steve is behaving, he’s still given his spouse an order. Bucky is supposed to follow it. 

“I’ll be… I’ll be right back, Steve. Okay?”

A brief flash of panic ripples across Steve’s face as tears rush to his eyes. His cheeks drain of most color and his lip quivers. 

“Yes,” he says. Forces a smile on his face like he realizes he’s panicking over nothing. Bucky will be back. “I know. I love you.”

First kissing Steve’s cheek, Bucky does as he’s told -- what he’d like to do save for leaving Steve behind -- and escorts his mother and sister into the dining room. It’s a place meant for family. The servants keep the table stocked with fresh sandwiches and fruits and even buns and muffins. There’s coffee and tea readily available. 

When Bucky walks in with his family, the few cousins that are in there simply look up and smile at them. Welcome them in without any words and Bucky couldn’t be more grateful as he pulls a seat out for his mother. One of the servants offers them all tea or coffee. Bucky accepts a cup of tea. His mother and sister both politely decline. 

“James?” Winifred whispers. “Are you okay?”

He’s staring down at his tea. At the steam swirling out of it. Like a sensual dance trying to distract Bucky from the sudden flood of tears that build in his eyes. Bucky’s head is still down when he shakes it.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “My husband is in pain and I… I can’t _do_ anything for him.”

A hand covers his. Bucky looks up and through the blur of his tears he can see Rebecca. She takes hold of his fingers. Tight. Not uncomfortably so. It’s just right, and Bucky grins. 

“Honey,” Winifred says. “You _are_ doing something. You’re with him. That’s all you can do right now.”

“It was enough for me,” Rebecca comments. And then blushes like she’s said something out of turn. “I just… you being with me when Dad…”

“Rebecca,” Bucky breathes and officially takes hold of her hand. “Thank you. I’m… I’m going to miss her. So much. I… I…”

“You loved her,” his mother finishes for him. “It’s very easy to see why. She was a lovely person. We’re all very lucky to have known her. You especially, Bucky.”

There are plenty of things that Bucky wants to say about Sarah. About how she was so much more than lovely. She was a star. Something bright and hopeful in the dark sky. 

“Well.” Bucky clears his throat and puts his half-empty teacup back on the table. It’s whisked away in seconds. “I should get back.”

Bucky takes just an extra moment to see them out. They’re at the entryway when Bucky gives them a quiet farewell. He’s about to simply make his way back to Steve when Rebecca is suddenly calling for him. He spins around. Right as she flings her arms around him. 

“You’ve always been my hero, Bucky,” she whispers in his ear. “You’ll be your husband’s, too. I know it.”

Heart pounding hard against his ribs, Bucky pulls her into his arms. Her hero. Maybe. Not quite. 

“Thank you, Rebecca,” he replies softly. “Thank you.”

He’s not sure how to be Steve’s hero, but as he reluctantly peels his arms away from his sister, he knows he needs to do more. For Steve. For himself. To keep his promise to Sarah. 

“Go on now,” Bucky tells Rebecca. “Before you or Mother are accused of behaving improperly.”

Rebecca nods and doesn’t risk saying anything else. She simply gives a courteous nod of her head like she would to anyone above her station and then leaves with Winifred. 

People are watching. Of course they are. Bucky should be used to it by now. Being watched. Judged. The world waiting for him to make a mistake or expecting something from him. A show. Either good or bad depending upon the audience. Especially as of late. 

The eyes that fall upon he and Steve watch as they push tradition and acceptable behavior as far as it can go. Some are on their side. The same people who supported Sarah. Others are waiting for them to fail. For their marriage to fall apart as proof that such radical notions will lead to nothing but failure. 

Yes, people are watching. Bucky ignores them as he makes his way back to where he left Steve. Only his husband is no longer in the room. Bucky even glances around twice to make sure. Steve has barely taken a few steps out of this room since Sarah was laid out for observance. Tradition states that someone stay with the body at all times until burial and Steve has taken on that role by himself. Despite assurances from the entire House that it’s perfectly acceptable for Steve to step out for a breather or even to get some real rest, he continues to insist that he’s fine. Right now, several of Steve’s family members are there among the mourners, but no Steve. 

“Excuse me,” Bucky murmurs to one of the servants when he checks the dining room and doesn’t find Steve there either. “Have you seen my husband?”

“I’m sorry, M’lord,” she says. “I haven’t. Perhaps he’s ventured out to the gardens, sir. Lord Rogers enjoyed spending time there.”

Bucky thanks her and she goes on her way as he takes her advice to check the gardens. Though he never gave it much thought before -- circumstances saw to that -- Bucky wishes he and Steve had gotten the chance to have their year engagement. With it, maybe Bucky would have known Steve enjoyed sitting out the the gardens here. Of course, with a year’s engagement, so much would have been different. 

As Bucky goes through the halls that lead him to the gardens, he wonders what the walls would tell him. What whispers they could share of his husband. How much Steve must have shared with them without him even knowing. The good, the bad. The beautiful. The ugly. Everything Bucky wants to know about his husband. Maybe one day will. 

The back door isn’t closed all the way. A frigid breeze floats in. Tickles the skin on Bucky’s neck as he pushes it open a little more. Sure enough, there’s Steve. Standing in the middle of the garden among dirt and bare trees and hanging vines. The ground is still home to patches of ice -- both the small, brick lined path and the dirt. That should thaw in a few weeks, but for now, it’s still frozen. The ground. The plants. The air. 

A shiver crawls through Bucky’s limbs. He needs to wrap his arms around him after just standing out there for a moment. Who knows how long Steve has been out here on his own. 

“Steve?”

His husband doesn’t jump at the sound of his softly said name. Steve just turns around to look at him.

“Are you cold?” Steve asks. “It’s cold out. Come here.” Instead of allowing Bucky to do that, he steps closer to Bucky and puts his arms around him. Holds him close. “You shouldn’t be out here. You don’t like the cold.”

No, he doesn’t. Bucky hates the cold, but he likes this. Likes being close to his husband. To feel the warmth that comes off of him. He’d gladly live in a frozen tundra if he had Steve to keep him warm. 

“I’m okay,” Bucky whispers. Cheek pressed against Steve’s chest. “I just want to be near you. I love you.”

“I…” Steve’s arms get tighter around him. Bucky thinks maybe he’s voice cracked, but he can’t be positive. “I love you, too.”

It occurs to Bucky that this is the first time they’ve been alone in a few days. The silence Bucky’s been restricted to doesn’t matter out here. A few stolen heartbeats that are just for them. 

“Steve,” Bucky breathes. “I’m so sorry, my love. Stevie, she was--”

Steve abruptly pulls away. It catches Bucky so off guard that he nearly stumbles forward. The sudden loss of Steve’s closeness is actually disheartening. Steve’s never pulled away from him like that.

“Husband? Are you--”

“I should get back in.” He’s already moving towards the door. 

“Wait! Steve!”

“I’m fine.”

_I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine._

Bucky hates those words. Loathes them as they stitch themselves across Steve’s soul. A permanent lie that scars him -- _and_ Bucky -- a little more each time he says it.

He moves without realizing it. Hand snatching Steve’s wrist and refusing to let go. Not this time. Even knowing that the quick, sudden, and -- admittedly -- harsh action has startled Steve. His husband struggles a bit to free himself. To continue walking away from their private moment and disappearing back into the place he can continue to hide from the one person he’s trying to hide from most. 

“Bucky, let go.”

But Bucky holds on tighter. He’s not letting Steve disappear. Bucky made a promise to Sarah. He loves his husband. 

_Careful_ , his arm says. Metal pieces overlapping and giving a gentle warning. _Any harder and you might hurt him_.

“Bucky--”

“No, Steve,” Bucky argues. “Stay here. With me. Just for a few minutes. You need to--”

“I’m fine,” Steve says. Again. Again and again. “What I need to do is get back.”

“No, husband. No, you don’t. Let the others handle things for a while. You can take time for yourself. Be with me, Steve.”

“I’m--”

“If you say you’re fine _one_ more time, I might actually hit you, husband.” Steve’s eyes go wide. Stunned. He just stares at Bucky like he’s not sure what to do. Maybe even confused by Bucky’s irritation. Bucky takes advantage of the silence. “You’re not _fine_ , Steve. Your mother died.”

Shock ripples across Steve’s face. What little color he’s had over the past few days drains a bit more. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “I know that. Which is why--”

“No.” Bucky gives a tug on Steve’s arm and brings him closer. “Your _mother died_ , Steve.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve growls. “I _know_ that.”

“ _Steve_.” Bucky takes hold of Steve’s shoulders. Both of them. Gives them a squeeze. “Your mother _died_.”

This time, Steve tries to leave again. Goes to pull away from Bucky’s hold on him which only makes Bucky take a tighter grip. That proves to anger Steve. His jaw tenses. Lips sets in a hard line.

“Let _go_ of me, Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. “Husband, your--”

“I know!” Steve exclaims. Flings his arms up and effectively bursts free from Bucky’s hold. “I _know_ , Bucky! _Damn it_.” He takes a step back and pulls a bit at his hair. “I know she’s… I _know_! I… she’s… I know she’s…”

Bucky closes the space between them. He gently cups his hands at Steve’s cheeks.

“Say it, Steve,” he says softly. “Go ahead. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Lip quivering, tears hug the corners of Steve’s eyes. He lowers his chin and shakes his head.

“I don’t want to,” he whimpers. Sucks in a rough breath. “I don’t want her to be gone, Bucky.”

“I know, my love.” Bucky lowers his hands to the base of Steve’s neck. “I know.”

“She’s…” Steve’s whole face crumples. “She’s really gone. She’s… dead. My mom is dead.”

Everything Steve’s been holding in comes out then. He falls into Bucky’s arms and finally lets go. Bucky’s quite sure that while Steve knew his mother was gone, this was the moment he truly accepted it. He’s clinging onto Bucky so tight and Bucky just holds him.

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispers. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t… I don’t want her to be dead, Bucky,” he sobs. “Please.”

Unable to hold it in, Bucky releases tears of his own. He doesn’t think Steve will mind. Bucky kisses the side of Steve’s head and cradles the back of it in the palm of his hand.

“I know,” he cries. “It’s not fair. But, husband, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t shut me out, Stevie. Please, don’t shut me out.”

Against his shoulder, Bucky can feel Steve nod. He’s trembling and gasping for breath. Every few shaky breaths, it sounds like Steve tries to say something, but never does.

Not until he whispers, “I’m tired, Bucky. I wanna go home.”

Bucky understands. He knows all about the exhaustion that sinks right into the bones and the never-ending hours that make it worse. 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky murmurs. “I’ll take you home. You can sleep for however long as you need, baby.”

After the funeral there will be a lunch held here in honor of Sarah. Bucky can’t remember much of the one for his father. He recalls his stomach hurting and his head spinning. Just a few hours after the burial and finding out that his mother sent out proposals for his sudden engagement. 

He wishes Steve will decide to just skip it. Go home with Bucky instead. He won’t though. Steve will stick to the custom and have the lunch with the House and put on a brave face through it all. Bucky knows that. He can only hope to get through it quickly. So he can bring Steve home. 

 

The rain started last night. Big drops of water that fell from the dark clouds that didn’t let up even when the sun tried to wake. Those clouds wouldn’t let it. Kept the light and warmth trapped behind them so the whole world could cry together as Sarah Rogers’ body was placed gently in coffin and carried out of the House of Rogers’ home. Placed in the horse drawn hearse with tender care to bring her to her final resting place. The curtains of the hearse’s windows were kept open so that the spectators who lined the streets could have a chance to view her one last time. 

Reporters were there with their photographers. Snapping photos even on such a solemn day. 

Bucky walked silently beside his husband. Joseph was on Steve’s other side. They all marched just a few paces behind the hearse. The rest of the House of Rogers fell a bit after them. Whatever leftover rain soaked into their coats. Even as they stood at the House’s mausoleum for the private funeral -- _finally_ a place to be with only family and friends -- and the Abbot gave his blessings for Sarah’s body to be placed inside. Much to Bucky’s surprise, he had been allowed to place a flower upon Sarah’s coffin -- a tradition usually only reserved for blood relatives. 

And as quickly as it started, it was over. 

Most of the spectators who lined the streets had dispersed already. Gone back to their lives while the House of Rogers -- whose mourning period has now started -- and their closest friends went back to have their first meal together without their dearly departed. 

Though the House of Rogers will each show their mourning differently -- as her son, Steve will use only a black handkerchief for the next six months; something Bucky didn’t get the chance to do -- the lunch is supposed to be new beginnings. The start of their lives without Sarah while also celebrating her life. Stories to be shared and laughs to be had and love to be spread. 

It was as much. Joseph’s hearty voice was dampened a bit by tears as he talked about how lovely Sarah’s parents had been and the gracious way they agreed to him asking for Sarah’s hand in marriage. Aunts and uncles and cousins spoke of the beautiful person Sarah was. Friends -- including Peggy, Sam, Tony, and Pepper -- added their own memories. 

All the while, Steve drank. 

And drank. 

And drank.

And now he’s so drunk that Bucky doesn’t know _what_ to do with him. 

“Husband, please,” Bucky pleads as he tries to help Steve up the front steps of their home. “I need you to hold still.”

Holding still, right now, is clearly not very high on Steve’s list of priorities. Like the night of Captain’s -- or _his_ \-- exhibit, he’s swaying back and forth and moving his arms about and talks about anything and everything. Only this time it’s bad. This is not the outcome of a good and happy night. Gone home with a husband full of cheer and merriment. This is something dark. Misery and despair. Steve’s attempt to drown his sorrows in something that will _never_ really drown sorrows. It’s just a bandaid. Bucky knows this firsthand. It’s just a bandaid trying to cover an open wound. A failure from the start.

Steve mumbles something much too incoherent for Bucky to catch. Giggles at something else. And almost spills down the entire front stoop when his foot slips across the wet step. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Bucky snags hold of Steve’s shirt to keep him from falling. “Steve!”

Instead of tumbling down, Steve just ends up a step lower and, miraculously, still on his feet. His eyes are wide. Not out of shock. Just an attempt to make the fuzzy border that’s surely there disappear a bit. It probably doesn’t work. 

Smacking his lips together, Steve glances around and then spots Bucky. In front of him and still holding onto his shirt so he doesn’t go anywhere. Steve lights up as though he had no idea Bucky was anywhere near him.

“Bucky!” he exclaims. He, well, Bucky assumes Steve tries to pull him into his arms, only to end up sort of slumped over Bucky instead. “Le’s go… s’go _dancing_ …” 

The way Steve moves next -- body rocking from side to side and this way and that -- makes Bucky wonder if he thinks they’re dancing right now. 

“Okay, yeah,” Bucky says. “Let’s go dancing. This way, Steve.”

Once again, Bucky tries to lead Steve up the steps. He goes one before resisting again. Steve is looking around and he shakes his head. Small crease between his eyes as though he’s trying to figure out whether he’s being tricked or not.

“Not… s’not the way.” He points his index finger. Up. “S’that way. Dancing.”

“No, no, husband. It’s this way. They changed it.”

“Changed it?”

“That’s right.” 

Bucky holds his left hand out. His left hand always gets more attention from Steve. And not in the way the rest of the world looks at it. With curiosity and awe and questions. Steve might have all of that as well, but when Bucky presents his metal arm to him, Steve always glows with honor. Even now. When Steve looks down at it and gently twines their fingers.

“We’re go… going… we’re dancing?”

“Yes,” Bucky lies. “This way, my love.”

Steve rubs his knuckles into his eyes and finally takes to following Bucky into the house. Leading Steve inside, Bucky carefully steers him through the entryway and into the front parlor. Steve asks again if they’re going dancing. Instead of answering, Bucky guides him down onto the sofa and crouches down to take Steve’s shoes off for him. They’re slippery and wet and Bucky needs to give one good tug to get them off since Steve is in no position to actually help with the task. His husband groans a bit when Bucky tries to get the jacket off of him. Plus the scarf and hat and gloves. Bucky gathers them all in his arms and stands again.

“Bucky?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“I…” Steve squints at him. “I love you?”

“I love you, too, husband,” Bucky murmurs. Adds a soft touch to Steve’s chin. “Now just wait here, okay? I’ll hang these up and then we’ll get you in bed.”

This would be a lot easier if Truvie was here today. She’s taken a bereavement day though. A courtesy not many Houses would allow, but this is Steve and of course he allowed it. Truvie’s been employed by the House Rogers since before Steve was even born. This takes a toll on her as well. So Bucky takes Steve’s things back into the entryway to hang them up. He takes a moment to ring the sleeves out and then takes his own stuff off. 

It’s chilly in here. Bucky can’t wait for spring to take root and bring with it the warmth that he craves so much. For now, he’ll have to settle for lighting a fire in the room. At least the heat is still on. One less thing he needs to worry about. 

“Okay, husband,” Bucky murmurs as he goes back to the front parlor. “Let’s get… Steve?”

Bucky spins around in a circle. He’s not sure why. He can clearly see the room is only occupied by lonely furniture and late afternoon shadows. 

“Steve?” Bucky calls out. 

The only answer he gets to that is a noise coming from the other end of the house. A loud crash. The image of Steve tumbling over into something flashes through Bucky’s mind. He hurries to where it came from. In the drawing room. Where Steve is teetering on his feet and chugging at a glass bottle of liquor. Brandy. The crash Bucky heard was the silver tray the bottle sits upon on the shelf. 

“Steve!” he exclaims. Rushes into the room and wrestles to get the bottle out of his husband’s hands. The liquor inside spills between them, most of it landing on Steve’s shirt. “Stop it! What’re you doing?”

They’ve never touched that bottle on their own. Only poured any of it out during their dinner party. Until today, Bucky’s only ever seen Steve indulge in a few beers or glasses of champagne. 

“M’just… just having…” He looks at the small puddle on the floor. Dips his big toe in it and spits a giggle as the expensive drink soaks through his sock. “You said we dancing. Right, Bucky? We’re dancing!”

Steve tosses his hands to the sides and stumbles right into the piano. Hard enough that it pushes the instrument back. Which, in turn, only has Steve falling back even more until he -- luckily -- catches his weight against his elbows. 

Heart pounding as his husband falls, Bucky jumps forward and drops the bottle down on top of the piano so he can grab hold of Steve. Bucky wonders if he was anything like this the night of their wedding. When Steve took him to the train station for the train ride Bucky has no memory of. Of course, that was two strangers and Steve had still been so gentle. So kind. Bucky hopes he can just get his husband to bed.

“Come on, husband,” Bucky says as he tosses Steve’s arm over his shoulder. “You need to lay down.”

Steve is now leaning against him. His head dips down and rolls from side to side until he manages to get it on Bucky’s shoulder. It takes a few minutes to get Steve moving at a steady pace, but once he does, it becomes a little easier to help him. 

“Mm.” Steve groans a bit. “You don’t wanna dance with me.”

Bucky has no idea where this obsession with wanting to dance has come from all of a sudden, but his husband seems quite set on it. 

“I want to dance with you,” he assures him. “But after you sleep, okay?”

“I step on your feet.”

Every time. Without fail.

Bucky chuckles.

“That’s okay, Steve. I kind of like it when you step on my feet.”

Steve goes on to mumble a few more things. Even as they get into the bedroom and Bucky unbuttons Steve’s shirt for him. Stained with Brandy. He already reeks of liquor. He doesn’t need to sleep in it, too. 

“I can sleep now?” Steve asks when Bucky gets him under the covers. 

“Yes.” Bucky leans in to kiss Steve’s forehead. “Sleep it off, husband. You’ll be alright.”

Steve’s eyes are already half closed. His lips are parted just enough that a little bit of drool seeps out. Bucky wipes it away for him.

“I’m sad, Bucky,” Steve admits. “I’m so… so sad.”

“I know, Steve,” Bucky whispers. 

Petting a hand over Steve’s head, Bucky would give anything to take this pain away from him. It’s just not fair. None of it. 

Steve is asleep now and Bucky does not envy the headache he’ll have when he wakes. Sighing, Bucky makes his way into the bathroom. He takes one look at his reflection -- the first time in days since all the mirrors have been covered -- and sees he’s not much better off than Steve. 

Cheeks pale and hair not all that neat. Black circles under his eyes. They can both use a good rest and a hot meal and a shower. Preferably all done in each other’s company. Especially the shower part. 

Bucky’s washing his face when he hears the commotion. He shoots back up, face dripping with water and turns the faucet on. Wishful thinking has him wondering if maybe he just imagined the noises. Because Steve is still passed out in bed. He has to be. 

Those hopes go down the drain when he hears it again. Bucky closes his eyes and steps away from the sink. He takes a peek back into the bedroom and, sure enough, the bed is empty. 

“Oh, no,” Bucky groans.

Water still dampens Bucky’s face and he simply runs his hands over it to dry off as he dashes out of the bedroom.

“Steve?”

The sound is clearer when Bucky hears it this time. Lots of items hitting the floor. In the library. 

Hurrying in there, Bucky’s shocked at what he sees. Steve hasn’t fallen over. He isn’t hurt or anything of the sort. The library, however, is a mess. All the things from Steve’s desk have been thrown to the floor. The lamp, though still in tact, is overturned. Books are all over the place. Pages of one ripped out. _Frankenstein_. 

The book is still in Steve’s hand. He’s thumbing through the pages with tears streaming down his cheeks. When he gets to a certain point, he rattles his head and starts going back again. He looks so disheartened. So miserable and confused as he searches for something among the sea of words and so many pages. 

Bucky just stands there. Frozen to the spot. He’s not sure what to do. Helplessness descends upon him. Seeps into the very marrow of his bones as he watches his husband tear through his favorite, most treasured book. 

_Do something!_ his heart yells.

 _What do I do?_ Bucky asks.

 _Don’t just stand there!_ his legs demand, siding with his heart. 

But this is so… it’s so delicate. As far as Bucky knows, Steve doesn’t even know he’s there. He can’t just storm in on him. Can’t yell at him. Hell, Steve probably won’t even understand or remember this. Bucky doesn’t… he can’t… he…

Moves.

Enters the room and carefully steps up to his husband when Steve starts ripping out another page from the book. 

“Steve,” he says softly. Places his hands over the book. “Stop.”

Steve peers at him. Eyes red and overflowing. Nose runny and puffy. He looks back down at the book now held between both his hands and Bucky’s. Sniffling, Steve swallows hard and releases his grip on it. Let's Bucky take it and place it down on the desk. Now the only thing there. 

“It’s my fault,” Steve whispers. 

The thought -- Steve’s thought -- pierces through Bucky like knives. His fault? Sarah? Steve can’t possibly believe that. 

“No, Steve, your mother was--”

“Summer,” he says, though it sounds a whole lot more like s-thh-ummer. “Bruce said it.

Yes, that’s right. Bruce had said she might make it to summer. But that had been a best case scenario. Not a certainty. 

“That--”

“I got sick,” Steve comments. “And it… it killed her.”

Bucky’s stomach turns to ash. Rotten with understanding. Sarah was never able to recuperate after seeing Steve so close to death again. Not that Bucky believes Steve’s thoughts. He doesn’t. At all. Sarah was sick. And would have given up anything to make sure her son wasn’t. 

“Steve.” Bucky moves in to hug him only to have Steve stumble away. “Husband, please…”

Wiping at his face, Steve chokes on a few breaths and just shakes his head. 

“I killed my mother, Bucky,” he whispers and tries to go to the door only to tumble over his feet and fall against the bookshelf.

Bucky rushes to his side to keep him from falling any further. It takes a lot of effort since he gets nearly no help from Steve in getting him back to his feet. His chest is so tight. He wants so badly to reach into Steve’s soul and steal the mean and unfair thoughts that have him drowning in anguish and misery. Burning in ice and freezing in fire. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers as he helps Steve back to the bedroom. “My love, this is not your fault. I promise you, Stevie. It’s not your fault.”

Steve doesn’t answer that. He just sucks in a rough breath as he crawls back into bed. Pulls the covers around him and sinks into the pillows. 

“Close the curtains,” he requests. “All of them.”

Bucky does as he’s asked. This isn’t the time to argue or to try to persuade his husband. He needs to mourn. Needs to be given a chance to heal. So Bucky pulls the blackout curtains over the windows and shuts the door. Seals Steve in the darkness he feels. 

~~

_Walking back into the room after Bucky spoke with his mom privately is surreal. Like it’s happening in some sort of dream. Or nightmare. It can’t be real. Not like this. Not yet._

_The person on the bed can’t be his mother. That’s not the woman Steve knows. Someone has stolen her. Stolen the strong, fierce woman and replaced her with someone frail and fragile. Thinned hair and boney hands. Breaths so shallow and weak. That’s not Sarah. Not his mom. It can’t be._

_“Steven,” she whispers when her eyes open. “So serious.”_

_He opens his mouth to respond, but finds it dry and empty of words. It occurs to Steve in a moment of horrible and undeniable truth, that he’s about to have his last conversation with his beloved mother. And yet he’s standing at the foot of the bed instead of being at her side. What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he move?_

_“It’s okay, Steve,” Sarah says. “You can… come close… closer.”_

_“Mom,” he whimpers as he finally takes those steps. Kneels at the side of her bed and takes her hand. “I…” How can he do this? There are so many things he wants to say. Needs to say. And none of it is coming to mind. “I… Mom, I love you.”_

_That makes a soft smile pull up on her lips._

_“Laugh, Steven,” she tells him. “It’s okay to be silly. Be you, angel. You’ve always been… my favorite person. Believe in… in yourself. Listen to your heart. And your husband…” Her smile grows. “Oh he loves you. Let him.” A tremble slithers up Steve’s spine and a whimper cracks through his throat. Fresh tears fill his eyes. “Keep making the world… beautiful. My son… Captain.”_

_Steve’s head snaps up. The name cracking through all the emotion and bringing with it shock and surprise._

_“Wh-what did you say?”_

_“Mm.” Sarah shakes her head once. “Do you really… think I didn’t… know?”_

_“I… Mom, I…”_

_“You, my son, are everything I…” She swallows and struggles a bit. “Could have… hoped for. Every bit of you? I would never trade. Not a… not a single thing.”_

_“I love you, Mom. Thank you. Just… thank you…”_

Thank you. That’s all he said. Thank you and I love you. As if those two phrases could ever encompass all that his mother meant to him. And now it’s too late. He’ll never get to tell her that she was his hero. That she taught him how to be strong. Taught him what it meant to stand back up. Always. 

It’s too late now.

She’s gone.

And Steve is sure it’s his fault. 

***

Time isn’t Steve’s friend. It’s not his companion. Not even an acquaintance. It just comes and goes. Whenever it sees fit. Steve can’t seem to make sense of it. Days and nights. They go on. Sometimes Steve is awake and aware. Sometimes he’s just awake. Most of the time, he sleeps.

“Steven?”

Such a lovely voice. Fills his heart with love and warmth. A dream maybe. Some place where he can open his eyes and not _feel_ anymore.

“Steve,” Peggy says. “You’ve slept all day.”

He glances up at her. It’s still dark in the room save for the candle lit in the candelabra she holds. The glow of the tiny, dancing flame grazes over her face. So pretty. There’s a good chance it’s dark outside. Might be evening. Or even night. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

“Peggy,” he whispers. “I’m tired.”

Peggy nods. Brushes a hand through Steve’s hair and presses lips to his hairline.

“Okay, my darling.”

She leaves. Taking the little bit of light with her and letting Steve submerge himself in the darkness again. 

Steve sleeps. A dreamless sleep, but still without bringing his body the rest it needs. Steve just sleeps. And wakes to a hand on his shoulder. Big and warm, and jostling him a bit. A gentle motion. One that simply shakes the sleep from him.

“Sam?”

“Hey, man,” Sam murmurs. “How you feeling?”

There’s a bit of sunlight creeping in through a crack of the curtains. It circles around Sam. Makes him look like an angel parting the shadows. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answers. “I… I just don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. It’s morning. Do you wanna go for a run?”

A run. Something so normal. Everyday. Crisp, clean air to fill his lungs. Push through his hair. Steve always feels so alive after a run. Alive. All Steve feels is wrong right now. Just wrong. 

“I just wanna sleep,” he mutters. Turns over and buries his face in pillows that smell like his husband. 

The hand on his shoulder hasn’t lifted yet. Sam’s thumb rubs gentle circles into the muscles of Steve’s neck. He then kisses the back of Steve’s head and straightens back up.

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.”

Sam pats his shoulder before leaving.

And Steve sleeps. 

He dreams. At least, he thinks he does. He can hear Sarah’s voice calling to him. Speaking to him. Her soft, sweet voice. A sound that cured him so often when he was little. Chased the monsters away from under the bed and in his heart. No one stood a chance against his mother. 

In his dreams, Steve can apologize. He can hug her and tell her how sorry he is that he made this happen. That he pushed her into death’s arms after she yanked him from them so many times. 

“Steve?”

No. Please no. Don’t make him wake up. When he wakes, Sarah is dead. Steve can’t hear her voice when he’s awake. He can’t tell her that he’s sorry when he’s awake. 

“Come on, big guy.” Tony. It’s Tony. “Just open your eyes for a minute.”

It’s pointless trying to fight against Tony. The guy’ll pester and pester Steve until he gets what he wants. But this time the table lamp is on and when Steve opens his eyes, he’s forced to squint. 

Over on the table, glowing in the soft cone of illumination, is a tray of food. Steve blinks a few times. Tries to focus on the food. Since he’s having trouble doing so, he glances up at Tony.

“You gotta eat something.”

Though Steve’s stomach definitely agrees, he shakes his head and attempts to pull the covers up over his eyes. Block out the light. 

“Nah-ah,” Tony scolds. Grabs hold of the blanket and yanks it back down. “Come on, Steve.”

“But I’m tired,” Steve whispers.

So tired. No matter how much he sleeps. Though Steve’s not really sure how long he’s been sleeping since it feels like he hasn’t had one wink in years. 

“So you just eat a little something,” Tony says. Puts the tray over Steve’s lap. “And then you go back to sleep.”

There’s only a bowl of oatmeal waiting for him. Topped with brown sugar and cinnamon. Just like he likes it. And a tall glass of orange juice to wash it down with. 

Sighing, Steve pulls himself so that he’s sitting up and tries a small spoonful. Nothing. He tastes nothing. The food just sits on his tongue -- bland and tasteless -- until he swallows it down. He tries again. And after a few mouthfuls, his shoulders slump and he puts the spoon down.

“I don’t want anymore.”

At first it looks like Tony might argue. He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it closed again. Instead of trying to get him to eat more, Tony ruffles Steve’s hair and lifts the tray away.

“Turn the light off?” Steve requests before Tony leaves. 

He does.

Shadows crawl all over him. 

And Steve sleeps again.

Sometimes he can hear people off in the distance. A part of him knows who they are. His friends. All waiting for him. 

_It get’s better_ , Bucky had said. Back at the farmhouse. When the world didn’t seem so dark for Steve. _Easier. You won’t even realize it. Being with someone you love and someone who loves you. With people you love and who love you. And you have a lot of that. Love. There’re a lot of people who love you._

Steve has that. Somewhere deep inside he knows he does. In Peggy and Sam and Tony. In his father and the rest of his House. Bruce and Betty and Pepper. Bucky. 

He has his Sweetheart. But he… Steve can’t remember the last time he saw his husband. He loves him. Oh, Steve loves him so much. He does. 

The curtains are wretched open. Sunlight sears into his eyes. A sudden, harsh pain that shocks Steve and has him throwing his arms over his face.

“Come on, Steve. You have to get up.” Bucky. There he is. “It’s been three days, husband.”

Steve groans. He wants to tell Bucky he loves him. Wants to tell him he misses him. But all that comes out is a groan.

He whispers, “You said I could sleep for however long I wanted.”

Bucky said it. Steve’s sure of it. Out in the gardens. When they had a few moments to themselves and his husband refused to let him hide any longer. Bucky said it. Steve needs him to keep his word. 

When Bucky doesn’t respond, Steve lowers his arms just enough to take a glimpse over the top of them. The light in the room hurts. But there’s Bucky. Surrounded by daylight. Who grimaces at what Steve’s said. 

“I did say that,” Bucky murmurs. Maybe to Steve. Maybe to himself. “Okay. Okay, you can stay in bed, husband.”

As he says this, Bucky undoes the knot in his necktie and slips it over his head. Next, he takes off his vest and shirt. It occurs to Steve then that Bucky had been dressed to start the day while Steve continues to sleep them away. But now Bucky’s undressing. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asks as Bucky lays his discarded clothes out on the ottoman. 

Rather than answer that, Bucky peels the covers back on his side of the bed and gets in.

“If this is where you need to be, then this is where I’ll be.” Bucky pulls the covers around both of them and scoots closer to Steve. Their bodies brush together. Hips touching. “You’re not alone, Steve.”

Even though his husband is laying right next to him, Steve faces away from him. Tears cloud the vision that’s come back to him. 

“I’m so… I’m so tired, Bucky,” he whispers. “So tired.”

“I know.” Bucky’s hand skims the top of Steve’s head. “Go ahead and sleep, Steve. I’ll be here when you wake. And whenever you’re ready to get up. I’ll stay here with you forever if that’s what it takes.”

“But…”

“I love you, Steve.” Lips graze the side of Steve’s neck. “I’m here until you order me away.”

Those tears spill over the brim of Steve’s eyes. Soak into his pillow no matter how quickly he tries to wipe them away. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispers. “Did I kill her?”

A hand -- soft and warm -- slips under his chin. Bucky both leans over Steve and guides his head towards him. Their gazes meet halfway. 

“ _No_ , Steve.” He’s never sounded so intense before. So determined. “Your mother was sick, baby. That’s all.”

“But I…”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees with what Steve hasn’t said. That him being ill pushed Sarah’s sick body too far. She couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t fight it any longer. “But she was sick. I didn’t…” Bucky’s jaw tenses like he’s trying to keep from shedding tears along with Steve. Steve wishes he wouldn’t do that. His husband doesn’t need to hold the tears in for his sake. “I didn’t get to know her very long, but I know that you were the most important thing to her. You mattered more to her than she did to herself. And she would _never_ want you blaming yourself like this.”

He’s right. Somewhere deep inside, Steve knows that. Even in the short time that Bucky got to know her -- oh, how Steve wishes they could have known each other longer -- he understands who she was just as well as Steve. Maybe even better. 

“I just…” Steve’s voice cracks and he turns all the way over. Leans into Bucky only to be wrapped up in flesh and metal. “I’m gonna miss her so much, Bucky.”

He cries into Bucky’s chest as his husband runs a hand over his head. Bucky whispers things to him. Soft words of comfort and endearments and promises of love that graze along Steve’s heart and soul. 

And yet he still can’t figure out how to get out of this bed to go back to his life. There’s something wrong with him, and Steve can’t understand what. All he knows is that the thought of it is so overwhelming that he feels paralyzed. He can barely even remember how to go about doing it. There’s so much. Too much. His brain can’t wrap around the idea.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Steve whimpers. 

“Nothing,” Bucky assures him. Keeps caressing him and holding him close. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve. I promise.”

How did Bucky do this? Survive? Even with the looming knowledge that he’d be having a marriage arranged for him hanging over his head. He’s so strong. Steve’s husband is so strong and all Steve can do is fall apart. 

Steve doesn’t remember falling asleep this time.

But when he wakes, he finds himself still in Bucky’s arms.

The room is even brighter than before. Sun still streaming in like an ever flowing river. Soaking the room in such desperate need for it. To chase away what Steve’s brought to it.

Steve doesn’t feel like moving just yet so he doesn’t. He’s comfortable and he’s warm. Here. Against his husband. Where he feels loved and protected and… Steve feels something other than tired. Other than the loss of his mother. Steve can feel. He’s not so tired anymore. In fact, he feels rested. Not better, but on his way. 

He’s here with his husband. In the bedroom they share in the home they’re building together. And suddenly, leaving the bed doesn’t feel so frightening. 

Steve can recall glimpses of the past few days. Flashes of brief bits and pieces that he can’t put together properly. All after the funeral. 

There was the lunch. Steve knows he was there for that but that’s where things start to get hazy. 

Sick. He remembers being sick. Stomach heaving and head splitting and body shaking. From the drinks. That’s right. His stomach turns at the thought.

His friends. Coming and going. From the soft sounds that float up from downstairs, they might still be here. Waiting for him. 

Admittedly, Steve feels ashamed at his behavior. For falling to pieces like that. Then he realizes that just a few months ago he probably wouldn’t have. Because he wouldn’t have allowed himself to. Steve would have held it all in. Swallowed it down and gone on pretending like he was okay when the world really shadowed over in loss and pain. 

That’s not what he did. He actually let himself fall apart. Unknowingly placed his trust and faith in those who love him that they’d help him find the pieces so he could rebuild himself. Steve’s not the same person he was a few days ago, but that’s okay. He can be this person, too. 

Fingertips glide down the back of his neck. Underneath him, Bucky shifts a bit. Feels as though he’s trying not to wake Steve. 

This is it. The moment Steve needs to take as his own step onto the path that will bring him home again. 

He tilts his head up. Look at Bucky and Bucky glances down at him. The look on his face makes Steve think he’s waiting -- and worried -- for him to breakdown again. Not this time. Steve shakes his head.

“Hi,” Steve whispers. “I missed you.”

There’s a tug at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. A smile ready to turn up but not yet taking that chance. Just in case.

“I’ve been here, husband,” Bucky murmurs. Stretches his hand over the back of Steve’s neck and leaves it there. “I promise.”

“Bucky?” He shifts his weight so that he can see Bucky better. “I… I’m ready to get up now.”

First brushing the hair away from Steve’s brow, Bucky gives him a look. As though he’s searching for some reason that might be a lie. 

“There’s no rush, Steve,” he says. “You can--”

“No, it’s…” Steve _could_ just fall back to sleep again. But then, he has no idea how much longer it will take if he doesn’t do this now. “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers. Kisses Steve’s forehead and gently moves his arms from around him. “I’m here, Steve.”

Bucky slowly gets himself out of the bed and moves around to Steve’s side. There, he holds both hands out to him. 

Taking in a deep breath, Steve pulls the covers off and sits up. The carpet hugs his feet when he steps down on it. Welcoming him back. And Steve gets out of the bed. 

First thing he does is hug his husband. So wonderful. Here with him now, before, the whole time. 

“I love you, Bucky. So much.”

“I love you, too, Steve.” Bucky hugs him tighter. “I’m so sorry this happened. We can talk about it, you know. Talk about her. Whenever you’d like.”

“I’d like that,” Steve whispers. 

Maybe not today. But sometime. Eventually. Right now it feel too tightly locked up inside of him. Letting it out now will only feel like opening the floodgates. 

“Come on,” Bucky says. “We should get you something to eat.”

Steve agrees. By the rumbling in his stomach, so does it. They both glance down to Steve’s belly then back at each other. And for the first time in days, Steve laughs. 

The conversations that Steve could just make out from upstairs get a bit louder and more recognizable as he follows Bucky into the morning room. The first voice he hears loud and clear is Tony. He’s not sure what he’s talking about, but whatever it is, Tony is sure to make his opinion on it known. Someone laughs. Sam. Peggy says something next and then Pepper chimes in. 

So much love. Waiting for Steve.

Bucky walks into the room first. Everyone glances up at him and nods in greeting and then almost get sucked right back into their discussion. Until they realize they didn’t imagine the person _behind_ Bucky. Silence fills the room. Taps its toes as it waits for someone to do something. 

They’re all watching Steve like he’s made of glass and teetering on the ledge. Understandable. But Steve isn’t glass. He might be teetering, but he isn’t glass. And he’s determined to stay upright. Teetering is okay. He’s learned that. Through Bucky. His husband. Who’s saved him in ways Steve didn’t even know he needed to be saved.

Steve lifts his hand and waves at his friends. Small grin teasing the edge of his mouth. 

The first person to move is Tony. He slaps his hands down on the table and pushes away from it. Coming right over to Steve -- no hesitation, no tip-toeing -- he just pulls him in for a hug. 

It’s a tight, full-embrace that lasts only for a moment before Tony pecks his cheek and then leaves an arm over Steve’s shoulder. Without a word, he just guides him towards the table with everyone else. Steve takes a quick glimpse over his shoulder. Bucky’s there. Smiling.

They must somehow know that Steve hopes they don’t make a big fuss over him because as soon as he’s seated, there’s a plate full of food in front of him and they go right back to talking. About, of all things, ice-skating. 

Steve doesn’t say anything. He’s content to just listen to them go on with their stories -- Pepper tells an excellent one about Tony attempting to leap over a pile of wood on skates and not being met with much success. An arm reaches over his shoulder, placing a cup of coffee down in front of him. Steve glances over. Finds Truvie there. Who gives his back comforting pet and his shoulder a squeeze before going back to whatever she was doing. 

Behind him, leaning against the counter, is Bucky. He’s sipping his own cup of coffee and when he sees Steve looking at him, he smiles. Next to Steve is Sam. He’s laughing at whatever Peggy’s just said and stops to look at Steve when Steve taps his shoulder. 

“Are we… running tomorrow?” Steve asks. 

For just a second, the conversation fumbles. Like Steve saying something at all might make him fall apart. But his friends quickly recover it and let he and Sam have their private moment. 

“Do you want to?” Sam asks. At first, Steve wonders if maybe he shouldn’t. But, same as getting out of the bed, if he doesn’t, who knows when he will. So Steve nods. “Good. Cause I was gonna come up there and drag your ass out anyway.”

A grin pulls up on Steve’s lips. He ducks his head down as a blush runs across his face. 

Maybe he’s not better yet, but just like Bucky said, the pain will go away. 

 

“Did I… did _I_ do this?” Steve asks when he and Bucky venture back upstairs after supper. 

Everyone has gone home. The afternoon saw Steve able to smile more freely. Talk a bit more. Laugh with them. They stayed for supper and dessert -- Bucky even made apple cake with Truvie -- and then it was time for them to go. 

Now Steve stands outside of the library. Shocked at the mess. The complete disarray the room is in. Everything from his desk is shoved all over the place and books are scattered on the floor and papers litter the carpet. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I was… I wanted to straighten up, but… I know you have it a certain way and I…”

“No, you didn’t… it’s not your responsibility. I just… I don’t remember doing this.”

Or maybe he does. There’s something vaguely familiar about the mess. Of Steve standing in the middle of the room and ripping pages out of…

“Oh…” Steve whispers and picks up the tattered copy of _Frankenstein_ from his desk. “What did I do?”

He opens the book. The book so close to his heart. He can still hear his mother’s voice reciting the lines. And he’s gone and ripped all his favorite parts out. That he remembers. Remembers tearing through the book and yanking the pages out as though he could yank the pain out along with them. 

Steve skims through the book. And when he gets just a few pages in, he finds a ripped out page that’s been… _taped_ back inside. It’s messy. A bit lopsided, but it’s there. Where it should be.

Bucky murmurs, “I know it’s not neat and not what you remember, but…”

“You… you fixed it? For me?”

“Well.” Bucky shrugs. “I tried, at least.” He twists his lips. “I’m sorry, Steve. I wanted to…”

“It’s perfect,” Steve whispers. Pages taped back in and edges frayed and spin cracked. It’s still whole. Different, but whole. “I love it this way.” He peers over at Bucky to see tears in his husband’s eyes. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. He’s glowing. As though what Steve’s said both makes no sense and honors him to the depth of his soul.

“Steve…” Bucky breathes. “Husband…”

“Tu es incroyable,” Steve says. Bucky likes it when he speaks French. And it’s been so long. So Steve goes on to say in the same language, “I love you so much. You’re everything to me. My life is so much better with you in it. Thank you for being my husband.”

Bucky blushes more and more as Steve goes on praising him. He may not be able to understand the words being said, but there’s no way he can miss the affection and adoration behind them. Steve would learn a hundred languages and tell him in each of them how much he loves him. In every way possible. 

"I..." Bucky hides his smile but Steve longs to see it. So he coaxes his chin back up. Bucky replies in Russian, "I love you, Steve. Thank you for loving me, too."

Taking a step closer and closing almost all the space between them, Steve lets their lips meet. Bucky tastes so sweet. Warm and alive. Sending a wave of electricity through Steve’s whole body.

Their kiss goes no deeper than beyond a soft brush of their mouths, but Steve feels completely blown away. Heart thudding and breaths staggering. When he moves away -- just a breath between them -- Bucky’s eyes are closed and his lips are still puckered.

Steve’s quiet chuckle has Bucky opening his eyes. He rattles his head a bit. Shakes the daze from his face. Smiles. 

“Why don’t you go back downstairs?” Steve suggests. “Boil some water for hot cocoa.” He gestures to the books. “Pick one. I’ll read to you tonight.”

“You will?”

It’s not the way they usually do this. Usually, Bucky reads to Steve. Wrapped in his arms and lounging comfortably on the sofa. Fire roaring happily and blanket hugging them both in its warmth. But tonight, Steve feels the need for this change. With him reading, it will keep his thoughts from straying. He’ll stay here. With Bucky. 

“Yes,” Steve replies. “I feel like spoiling you tonight. Perhaps sharing with you those five favorite words of yours.” What Bucky doesn’t know is that there’s a box of chocolate hidden in the kitchen. Steve plans on feeding pieces to him as he reads to Bucky. “Do you object, Lord Barnes?”

Bucky grins and tucks his arms around Steve’s waist.

“I suppose I can make do with your decision,” he says. “If you insist. As headship and all.”

This feels good. Right and natural. The affectionate teasing and playful banter. Life moving on. As best as they can get it.

“Good.” Steve kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose. “Now do as your husband says. Go on and pick a book.”

“Then boil the water?” Bucky teases as he goes to the shelves. Selects one after a only a few moments of scanning the titles. _Wuthering Heights_. When Bucky turns back around, he quickly looks over the mess in the room. “You’re not… you’re not going to try to clean now, are you, Steve?”

“Just a little.”

He wants to get some of this straightened up. At the very least get the things from his desk off the floor. But the way Bucky glowers at him makes Steve rethink that.

“You’ll be okay?” Bucky asks. “You really need to do this on your own?”

Confused by Bucky’s worried tone, Steve takes a moment to ponder what could be bothering him. Why he would be concerned with Steve staying behind a moment. It only takes a few thoughts before the obvious becomes so clear. 

“Yes,” Steve answers. Assures Bucky that he’s not turning him away so he can hide from him again. “I promise. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Bucky looks him over for a moment before letting out a deep breath and nodding.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll be waiting, husband.”

Just as Bucky walks by him, Steve takes hold of his wrist and guides him back in. Steve gets only a second to see the confusion on his face before he pulls his husband into his arms. He can feel Bucky smile against him as he hugs him back.

“Th-thank you, Bucky,” Steve whispers. Fights back the tears that threaten to take him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Steve.” His hand rubs up and down Steve’s back. “Everything will be okay. I swear.”

Head buried between Bucky’s neck and shoulder, Steve nods. A few of those tears do escape and Bucky notices. Wipes them away from Steve and kisses him again. 

“Hurry up, husband,” he tells him. “So you can get on spoiling me.”

Laughing through the last of those tears, Steve gives a swift slap to Bucky’s behind as he walks towards the door again. Bucky gasps and laughs and sticks his tongue out at Steve when he leaves. 

As promised, Steve has no intention of trying to clean the whole mess right now. But he made it. And he intends on fixing it. That starts with at least picking up some of the papers and files from his desk. 

It doesn’t take all that long. Fifteen minutes at most to get a bit of his own sense of organization to it. Steve piles up all the files -- he’ll go through them to make sure they’re all organized tomorrow -- and stacks up the books and ends up with a handful of letters that need to be mailed. One or two that even ended up under the desk. 

Most of them are addressed to Sarah and, for a second, Steve’s heart twists painfully as he clings onto words that she’ll never have the chance to read. But they need to be sent. These are all things that whoever the Courts decide to replace her with need to see. That might even be the determining factor to how Steve will have to go about doing his job. 

Though he’s set to inherit the House of Rogers’ seat in Parliament, Steve might attempt to acquire the position sooner. If he can’t go about helping people see the justice they deserve how things are now, then he’ll just have to find a new way to do so. 

“I’ll make you proud, Mom,” Steve whispers to the letters with her name on them. “I won’t let you down.”

Rising to his feet, Steve takes a quick glance around the library. It’s not done of course, but it’s better than it looked when he first walked in. That’s all he can do for now. Besides, he doesn’t want to keep his husband waiting. 

“Truvie!” Steve calls as he comes down the stairs. 

She in the front entryway, getting ready to leave for the day. But when her name bounces off the walls, Truvie turns and stops putting her gloves on.

“What can I do for you, Lord Rogers?” 

Steve, holding the letters up as he approaches, pauses just in front of her and pecks her cheek before doing or saying anything. He’s sure, without having to be told, that while he locked himself upstairs to submerge himself in his own anguish and misery, Truvie’s been keeping house and home. 

Touching the spot he just kissed, Truvie asks, “What was that for, sir?”

“For…” Steve gives her soft, appreciative smile. “For everything. All your help. Your services. Just for being there through all of this. Thank you, Truvie.”

 

Truvie places a hand over her heart and wipes under her eyes. She nods and takes a second to keep herself composed.

“It was always an honor and privilege working for Lady Rogers,” she says. “And it’s been an honor and privilege working for you and Lord Barnes, sir.”

“What would we do without you, Truvie?”

“Well, I would say starve, but I think I’ve made a pretty excellent cook out of your husband.”

Steve laughs. 

“Indeed you have. Truvie, if you wouldn’t mind--” Steve hands her the envelopes “--could you drop these in a post box on your way home?”

“Of course, sir.” She takes the letters and skims her fingers over the name on the top one. Sarah. “She’s going to be missed. So very much.”

She says the last part softly, just a whispered sentiment that might be more for herself than for Steve. 

After thanking her again, Steve helps her into her frock coat and escorts her to the door. Watches as she leaves with the last letters made out to Sarah Rogers. 

Once he shuts the door, Steve heads to the kitchen to grab that box of chocolates for his husband. Bucky’s waiting for him in the drawing room. Back to Steve. From what Steve can see, Bucky is hovered over the trolley cart he’s brought their hot cocoa in on. He starts a bit and spins when Steve clears his throat. 

“Steve!” Bucky chuckles at himself. 

Hiding the chocolates behind his back, Steve grins and asks, “What’re you doing, my Sweetheart?”

“Oh… um…” Bucky’s skin flushes as he steps aside a bit to show Steve what he was up to. 

On the tray with their teacups filled with cocoa is a small, glass jar filled with mini-marshmallows. Bucky was putting some in each of their drinks. One by one. Counting. Seventeen in each. Just like Steve had done for him when they were at the farmhouse for Christmastide. 

“Mm.” Steve leans forward and kisses Bucky’s cheek. “You are positively adorable.”

Bucky folds a smile in. 

“I try.” He makes a half-hearted attempt to see what Steve’s hiding behind his back. “What do you have there, husband?”

“Oh,” Steve singsongs. “I have something for you.”

Bucky, trying to remain cool and nonchalant, still lights up. He nibbles on his bottom lip and bats his eyes. Peers up at him with one of those wicked, illegal looks of his. All innocent with a pinch of seduction. 

“That is entirely unfair,” Steve sighs. Brings the small box -- wrapped in a brown, satin ribbon -- out from behind his back. “For you.”

“Oh, husband,” Bucky breathes. Big smile stretching across his face. “You do know me well.”

When Bucky goes to reach for the box, Steve pulls it away. Wags a finger at his husband.

“Not yet.” He chuckles when Bucky gives him quite the scandalized look. “We’ll get comfortable and then _I’ll_ feed some to you while I…” Steve trails off. Glances around the drawing room as if he should remember something but doesn’t. 

“What is it?” Bucky asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Did we… did we go dancing?”

Bucky surprises him with a laugh. 

“No, Steve,” he says. Amused and somehow charmed at the same time. As though Steve’s done something cute. “But you really wanted to the other day. Or maybe just the liquor did. I’m not sure.”

A glimpse of a memory flashes through Steve’s mind. He did want to dance. An inebriated to and fro with Bucky close to him.

“I wanted to dance with you,” Steve whispers. “I did.”

“You thought you’d step on my feet,” 

“I would have stepped on your feet.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky murmurs. Slips the box of chocolates from Steve’s hands and places it on the trolley. Then gently glides his left hand up Steve’s chest to rest it on his shoulder. His right hand join’s Steve’s as Bucky easily shifts them into a position perfect for a dance. “My feet might argue, but I don’t mind that you step on them.”

There’s no music. Nothing to give them as sense of rhythm or pace. But they dance. Together. In the company of hot cocoa and unopened chocolate and a classic piece of literature. They dance. 

This is what Sarah’s left him with. What Steve still has even with her presence taken. Love. Laughter. A dance. A new day. And good times to still be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii everyone! So here we are. I once again want to offer my apologies for taking so long to get chapters done. I'm so appreciative of your patience and sticking with the story.
> 
> So yeah! Autumn fully underway, at least here on the US East Coast. Starting to get really chilly and I don't wike it. But Halloween in on the way! Hope everyone who participates in Halloween festivities has a safe and fun time! 
> 
> Alright so lets get some images up for ya!
> 
> First we have the idea of Bucky playing the piano before Sarah dies
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> Talking with Sarah at her bedside
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> When helping Steve out of bed
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> And when Steve is praising him in French
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> So this doesn't actually happen, but I wanted to give some Steve and Sam friendship 
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> Steve finding out that he's going to say goodbye to Sarah
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> At Sarah's bedside
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> And lastly at Sarah's funeral
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> So there you have it! Just three chapters left and I do hope you'll stick around for them :)
> 
> Come follow me on tumblr! [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com)!


	31. Hey! Remember this one??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Welcome back! I'm so super sorry for the long wait between updates. Things are really nutty right now, but I do hope I still have some people still interested!

Steve is dreaming. Again. He knows he’s dreaming because everything is too dark, and what he _can_ see is softly coated in silver and gold. It glitters around everything in the bedroom, and would be beautiful if not for the shadows that creep over his sleeping husband. They stretch in darkened layers like branches of blackness as they coil around him to pull him deeper and deeper into their unrelenting grasp. And Steve, sitting up in the bed, is always powerless to stop it. 

He watches as Bucky is gradually taken over by these strange shadows. They want him, but they can’t have him this time, they _can’t_. Steve wants to chase them away. Bring light to this room of strange and shimmering golds and silvers and the shadows that are trying to make Bucky disappear. His body won’t move right. It’s slow and sluggish, his heavy limbs not listening to him. The air in his lungs has been set ablaze. 

There’s never any sound in the room other than Steve’s own heartbeat as it pounds frantically against his ribs. Growing louder and louder with every passing moment -- each more horrifying than the last as Bucky is overcome. 

“ _No_ ,” Steve growls to everything and nothing. Torn between knowing this dream and fearing the outcome every time. The shadows pulse around Bucky, and Steve knows they’re _laughing_ at him. Cruel and taunting. “You _can’t_ have him. Not this time.”

That horrible darkness stops for just a breath before twisting and spiraling and _tightening_ around Bucky so hard that Steve can see him gasp in pain. His eyes fly open, frantic and confused as they search for the meaning behind the sudden pain and fear. 

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims. “Bucky, it’s okay! You’re going to be okay!” 

He struggles more with his body but it _won’t move_ , it just _won’t move_. And Bucky’s eyes, like always, don’t find him. Because Bucky can’t see him. Bucky thinks he’s alone. That Steve’s abandoned him in this place of golds and silvers and shadows that hurt and strangle him. Steve doesn’t understand why he knows those are Bucky’s thoughts. He just does. 

Bucky’s mouth goes to form a word -- the same word like every other time -- and Steve’s heart breaks and shatters all over again when his name falls from Bucky’s lips. Seen, but not heard. 

Tears burn behind Steve’s eyes. “Please. Not again. Not again.”

It’s useless. Of course it’s useless. It always is. And just as Steve tugs away from the invisible restraints that hold him still, the shadows overtake Bucky, and all Steve grabs are sheets and blankets. A place once warmed by his husband’s body, now empty and cold. 

“No.” A sob breaks in Steve’s throat. “Please, bring him back. Give him back to me. Bucky… Bucky, no…” 

Nothing answers him. It never does, and Steve is left alone in this room of gold and silver and shadow. Darkness looms in every corner. Steve never knows what comes after this part. Something dark and cold and sinister as the golds and silvers dissolve into blackness. It all begins to melt around Steve. Dripping down from the ceilings, slithering along the walls, crawling across the floor. Coming to consume him. 

Only this is the part where Steve always wakes up. He slams his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see. He’s supposed to wake up. He covers his ears. Even though there’s nothing to hear. He needs to wake up. He has to. He…

Jerks up with a gasp in his lungs and a tremble running through his body. Steve is covered in sweat with tear tracks down his face. His heart is slamming against his chest, slowly beginning to settle as Steve takes in a few steadying breaths. Hands still shaking a little, he places them back down on his desk. His desk?

That’s right. He’d come back into his office after supper to get a little more work done. Still catching up on the cases he hadn’t been able to take care of. Between being sick and then… his mom, his work started to back up a bit. The fact that the Courts are _still_ undecided on Sarah’s replacement doesn’t help. They’re taking a little longer than usual to come to this decision, but Steve’s been trying to go on as usual. Sending cases along to City Hall and hoping for the best. 

But this dream -- this _nightmare_ \-- Steve’s been having it several times a week since returning to work. Waking up with his heart beating frantically against his ribs. Sweat sticking to his skin and air pumping fast through his lungs. The fear is so real. Of something horrible creeping into the bedroom and taking Bucky away from him. Taking Bucky someplace that Steve can’t follow. Someplace Steve is _incapable_ of getting to. 

He tells himself over and over that it’s only a dream. There’s nothing trying to sneak into his home to take his husband away from him. Yet he still wakes up trembling with a horrified gasp on his lips every time.

Steve is still shaking when there’s a knock at the door and a call of his name. 

“Steve?” Bucky says, and gives Steve no time to respond before opening the door and sticking his head into the office. “It’s getting--” He stops. Eyes growing as he steps all the way in. “What’s wrong? Husband, are you alright?” 

The second the door opened, Steve attempted to wipe whatever betraying emotions were left on his face. Tried to clean away the remnants of tears and leftover sweat. 

“Nothing,” Steve lies as he combs fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know if it’s messy or not, but it keeps up with the idea that Steve is just straightening himself up. “I’m okay.”

Thinking on that for a moment, Bucky stands there quietly as though he’s trying to figure out if Steve is lying or even if he’s overstepping boundaries. Bucky’s been very careful around Steve lately. Worried, most likely, that he might impose on his headship’s mourning period. 

Still watching Steve carefully, Bucky says, “But you… you were crying?”

First raising his hand to his eyes, Steve quickly tries to rid himself of whatever gave him away. He sniffs and finds his breaths still jagged. Steve looks at Bucky. Sees his lips set in a tense line, his eyes holding all the worry of someone who loves him. 

“It’s nothing,” Steve tells him. Then catches the concern that swells in Bucky’s eyes. “It was… it was just a dream.”

With that confession floating between them, Bucky crosses through and past it as he approaches Steve’s desk. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. Reaches out to comb his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve allows the touch and leans into it. “You’ve been…”

When Bucky doesn’t finish that, Steve glances up at him. “I’ve been what, Bucky?”

Pink splashes across Bucky’s cheeks. He looks embarrassed or maybe guilty. As though feels he’s been caught doing something wrong. 

“It’s just… you’ve been… whimpering. In the middle of the night.” And now it’s Steve who blushes. “Have you been having nightmares, husband?”

“No,” Steve lies. “Of course not.”

He’s not sure why he’s lying. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want Bucky to worry about his silly dream. Maybe it’s because Steve feels silly for being so worked up over a dream. Whatever the reason, Steve lies, and then quickly rearranges some papers on his desk. He doesn’t quite remember what he was working on -- he’s lost the proper mindset for work anyway -- so after that quick sorting, Steve rises and hustles past Bucky for the door. Feels trapped in here with that lie weighing down on him and wants to just get out of here. 

“I did,” Bucky whispers. Steve almost loses his footing as he stops. He doesn’t turn around though. Not even when Bucky says, “Right after my father died. They stopped after a few weeks, but then started again after I came to live here.” 

Steve’s stomach burns at Bucky’s admission. At the idea of Bucky having nightmares without him knowing. Right under his own roof and not being able to do anything to help him.

“I would wake up soaked in sweat and not know where I was at first. They… they got better when we…” Bucky seems to need a moment to word this correctly. Steve doesn’t have to be looking at him to know he’s glancing down at his feet. Maybe even giving a tug of his ear or fiddling with his fingers. “When we grew closer. I believe I felt safer after some time.”

Steve can hear Bucky’s soft footsteps as he comes closer and gently lays his hands upon Steve’s shoulders. He presses a kiss into the back of his neck and then rests his brow there. 

Bucky murmurs, “I know that… that as headship you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Steve’s head lowers. This has nothing to do with his rights as headship, and he hates himself for making Bucky feel that. “But I do hope you know you can share anything with me, husband.” Bucky’s lips touch that spot again as his hands give Steve’s shoulders a light squeeze. “I love you.”

When Bucky lets his hands slip away and heads for the door, Steve struck with a sudden, intense feeling of loneliness. And Bucky hasn’t even left the office yet. 

“They take you,” Steve says just as Bucky reaches the door. 

His quiet, shaky voice is just audible and it makes Bucky pause in the doorway. He turns. Looks at Steve with openness and tenderness and all the love in the world. 

“In your dream?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes and is unable to keep Bucky’s gaze. 

His throat gets very tight. It hurts to think about this. It hurts even more trying to talk about it. Like somehow, setting the words free will give this nightmare the chance to be real. But Bucky slowly comes back over. Stands just in front of him, patient and willing to listen no matter what. 

“Who takes me?” he asks. 

“I…” His voice cracks. “I don’t know. Something in the dark.” Tears sting his eyes and no matter how hard Steve tries, he just can’t push them back down. “They take you away. And I can’t… I can’t help you.” 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs. Reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles over Steve’s cheek. “No one is going to take me. I’m right here.” He takes Steve’s hand and presses is over his heart. “See? Besides.” Bucky gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. “I can’t go anywhere without my headship’s permission anyway, remember?”

He smiles at the end of his statement. Attempting, Steve’s sure, to make him feel better. Because they’ve already discussed Bucky only letting Steve know where he’d be and not having to receive explicit permission to be somewhere. The rest of the world, however, expects it, and would not be happy with Steve’s leniency. 

While Steve appreciates Bucky’s comfort, he feels his stomach twisting and throat burning. This doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t seem fair. There was no one to catch Bucky’s nightmares. No one to chase them away in nights soaked in shadows and uncertainties. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve lowers his head. “I’m your headship. I should have been there for you.”

Taking a step back, Bucky tilts his head. Looks at Steve like he doesn’t quite understand where is apology is coming from. 

“Steve…”

“No,” Steve interrupts. “I’m your headship. I’m the Head of the Household. I can’t… I can’t keep falling apart like this.”

That’s all Steve feels capable of doing lately. First with getting sick and then his mother having to retire and then dying… Steve barely feels able to keep himself together let alone run his marriage. He’s trying. Truly he is. 

But Bucky doesn’t seem worried about that at all. He simply touches Steve’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. Brushes them across his jawline and sighs softly. 

“Husband, you have to stop being so hard on yourself. A lot has happened, Steve. In a very short amount of time.”

“But you--”

“Yes, yes,” he agrees with Steve’s unspoken statement. “My father died and then I was with…” He struggles with that for just a heartbeat. “I was with Brock and then we were married. Trials and tribulations, husband. It was difficult and I thought it would never get better, but it did. And I’m eternally grateful for it.”

Eternally grateful. After the sudden, unexpected death of his father and being with someone who was cruel and unkind and topped off with a marriage he never wanted, Bucky is grateful. A nightmare that’s somehow turned into a dream come true. Steve doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how Bucky can be so strong when all Steve wants to do right now is crumble. 

Steve wishes he was strong like Bucky. 

Bucky thinks Steve is strong, Steve knows this. There are a lot of people who think Steve is strong. He’s _supposed_ to be strong. That’s his role, the one he accepted when he agreed to marry Bucky and to be his headship. Right now, Steve doesn’t know how to be strong. Right now Steve just wants to be Steve; whoever that is. He thought he was being strong when he got out of bed that afternoon with Bucky and all his friends were here. He’s not so sure now. It feels as though he’s been knocked to the ground somewhere along the way. He’ll get back up -- he’s too stubborn to stay down -- but he just can’t figure out how. Or _why_ he can’t. Why can’t he get back up? 

Those horribly annoying and useless tears burn behind his eyes again and Steve feels a stabbing in his stomach. A knife that doesn’t really leave but pretends to go away only to reshow itself when Steve least expects it. Steve doesn’t even know _why_ the tears show up again, but they do and he can’t swallow them back down. It’s just…

“I’m scared,” he whispers. 

And then it’s there. The words and the truth behind them that Steve just couldn’t bring himself to admit. Maybe, on some level, really didn’t understand. Now he’s said it, and it feels as though he’s taken a scalpel and cut himself open. Feels the wound trying to mend itself and for some reason it can’t. 

It feels… better, when his brow rests up against his husband’s and Bucky rests his hands at his waist, but it’s still open. Exposed and vulnerable, and Steve can’t stitch it up again.

“Why are you scared, husband?” Bucky murmurs. 

“I don’t…” No. No, he does know why. It’s simply a matter of saying it out loud. Steve takes in a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

The heartbroken look on Bucky’s face is just awful, and cuts right to the marrow of Steve’s bones. His husband doesn’t answer that, and Steve knows why. No matter how much Steve wants to beg Bucky to tell him that it’s not going to happen -- to assure him that he’s not going to lose him or anyone else -- that’s a promise that cannot be made. Bucky won’t make a promise he can’t keep. And it hurts that he can’t. 

He doesn’t even realize his hands are curled into tight fists until Bucky’s metal fingers skim his knuckles. Steve loosens the tight grip of his fingers so that his nails are no longer digging into his palms the way Bucky doesn’t like. Instead of letting them fall flat, Bucky laces them with his. He gives a gentle tug, leaving their brows touching. 

“Come with me, Steve?” It’s a request. He doesn’t actually try to leave. “I’d like to show you something.”

Steve would answer, but the words would just fall apart as they come up his throat. So instead he nods, and allows Bucky to bring him downstairs to the drawing room. Holds his hand the whole time. They stop in the middle of the room, and Bucky appears torn between taking Steve further in or not. To be honest, Steve doesn’t want Bucky to go even a few feet from him. He can tell him not to, of course, but if that’s what Bucky wants at the moment Steve’ll let him. As long as he doesn’t go that far. 

“This is… the best spot,” Bucky explains. “In the room. To hear.”

“To hear?” Steve questions. 

“Yes. Can you wait here? Just a few minutes, I promise.”

That’s okay. Steve can give Bucky a few minutes to do whatever he needs. With a nod, Steve lets his fingers slip away from Bucky’s hand and watches as Bucky crosses the rest of the room and goes to the piano. _To hear_ , Bucky said. He’s going to play for him. 

This wouldn’t be the first time. Bucky actually plays for him quite often. Familiar melodies and sweet songs that make Steve smile and sometimes has him wanting to dance. Bucky smiles at the piano. Disappears into a world of notes and ivory and musical stories that mean something different every time. But he’s never asked Steve to wait here. Steve might watch sometimes from the door before Bucky knows he’s there -- which is when Bucky lets himself open up to the music the most -- but he normally wants Steve to sit on the bench with him.

Tonight, Bucky goes to the bench alone, and lifts the lid of it to retrieve a book of sheet music. He looks a little nervous as he clutches the book and closes his eyes. The walls whispers around Steve, knowing something he does not. Sharing a secret with Bucky as he sits down at the piano and opens to the middle of the book. There’s a dim, purple light coming in through the window. The sun already set, but the last of its light still tickling the waking world. 

Bucky doesn’t say a word as he glides his fingers first over the ivory keys before getting them in place. It looks as though he might go to take a glimpse over at where he’s left Steve standing, but he never actually does. Taking in a deep breath, he lets his fingers start moving. He’s a sight to behold. Watching his fingers move like it’s effortless. Pressing down on each key just right to strike up a melody and fill the world with music. Giving that music to Steve.

Steve doesn’t know this piece. Can’t remember Bucky ever playing it or ever hearing it elsewhere. It starts off slowly, the notes circling around Steve and laying over him like the dawn of a new day. The sun coming up after a long, dark night. 

Bucky is playing Steve a sunrise. 

There are tears in his eyes again. These ones Steve doesn’t mind very much. They’re from someplace warm inside of him. Steve feels like a soap bubble. Shiny and iridescent as he floats above the ground. So different from what he was feeling just moments ago. 

Just like Bucky said, he only has Steve standing there for a few minutes since he suddenly stops playing. The song ending without having an end. Abrupt and incomplete, and Bucky swallows hard while curling his fingers away from the keys. For a few drawn out moments, neither of them say anything. 

“I don’t know that song,” Steve finally says when Bucky continues saying nothing. His husband hasn’t even looked over at him again. Just keeps staring at the piano keys. 

“No.” Bucky slowly shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

“What song is that?” 

He flicks a nervous glance Steve’s way. “I…”

He doesn’t finish that. He looks away instead. 

“You what, Bucky?”

Bucky fiddles a little with his fingers before running his right index fingers over the keys in front of him. Tracing idle circles and maybe seeking courage. The piano does like him more than Steve. 

“Wrote it,” Bucky breathes. Soft as a breeze. “I wrote it, husband.”

“You…”

“I can stop,” he suddenly states and throws a nervous gaze back at Steve. “I can, I swear. If you think… if you don’t… I didn’t think you’d mind, but if you do, I’ll won’t finish it.” Bucky twists his lips as he goes on. “It’s just… that’s how you make me feel. Inside.” He lowers his chin. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I…”

Steve interrupts Bucky with a kiss. He doesn’t know when he moved for the piano, but he’s now got his hands at Bucky’s cheeks and his kissing him and never wants to stop. That’d be okay. To just stay like this forever. He wouldn’t mind. He’s sure Bucky wouldn’t either, not with the way he kisses him back. But the world would. And the world keeps on going. 

“You’re so… you’re so brilliant, Bucky,” Steve says. Heated and breathless and between more kissing. “Incredible. Incroyable. Mon coeur.”

“You mean…” Bucky keeps kissing as well. “I can finish it?”

“Never stop. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. And I love you. I love you so much.”

Bucky’s tugging at Steve’s shirt, pulling him down to sit on the bench so they can get their lips together with a bit more ease. There’s a smile on his face now. Steve can’t see it, but he can feel it beneath his own lips. 

“I love you, too, husband.” Bucky replies. Hands tugging at Steve’s waist to bring him that much closer. “Take me upstairs, Steve. Please?”

It’s been too long. They haven’t had each other since days before the funeral. So Steve does. Caught somewhere between a nightmare of gold and silver and shadows, and a sunrise played by the ever dexterous fingers of his brilliant husband, Steve takes Bucky upstairs. 

***

The bed creaks softly underneath them. A sweet song of wear and use that happily plays for bunched up blankets and twisted sheets. Outside, the wind whistles in suit as it rolls gently over moonbeams and shadows. Melodic and soft, and Steve runs idle fingers along his husband’s neck in rhythm with it all. 

Bucky lies cradled in his arms still sticky and sweat soaked as he yawns lazily against him. There’s a contented and absentminded grin turned up on his lips. So full of trust that’s grown so much in only six months. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispers. 

His husband answers only with a nuzzle of his cheek against Steve’s chest and a hook of their ankles. 

Steve chuckles. Bucky’s been floating away even more than when they first began being intimate. Shooting for the moon and flying among star studded skies. Sometimes he’s aware of his altered state of mind as he slowly floats back down to Steve again. Other times, he’s not. Steve’s always made good on his promise to never leave him like that. He stays. Keeps his husband tucked tightly and comfortably in his arms to be a guide of whispered endearments as Bucky makes his way back. 

“Are you with me, baby?”

This time, Bucky huffs a little, like Steve’s being a bother, but he still looks up at his headship with shiny eyes and just hums softly.

Smiling, Steve draws him in close for a kiss. His husband tastes sweet on his lips. A wine for the best of occasions, and Bucky kisses back. Unhurried and all his. 

“It’s okay,” Steve assures him. “I love you, my Sweetheart. You’re so good for me.”

Bucky brightens with a dazzling smile as Steve pets a hand over his head again. Praises and compliments and soft touches that send his husband soaring even further away than he already is. That’s okay. This is not like his nightmare. It’s okay for Bucky to drift away into a place that Steve cannot follow. Because he leaves Steve behind in a place that Bucky doesn’t know. A place where all that exists is the faith that Bucky’s bestowed upon Steve. Steve will take care of him -- always.

Pressing a kiss into locks of damp hair, Steve guides Bucky’s head back down so he’s resting against him again. Bucky puts up no protest and snuggles into Steve a little more. Slips chilly toes under blankets and between Steve’s legs. Steve rests his chin atop Bucky’s head. Ignores the tickle of his hair and, instead, lets the peace of holding his Sweetheart close to him settle into his bones. 

Time blankets over them like soft velvet; purple shadows growing steadily through the room as the moon drifts across the sky. Steve feels oddly at peace right now. More so than he has in weeks. Cotton, Steve decides. He feels like cotton pulled and stretched and molded into something new. Still whole, still cotton, just different. 

After weeks of illness and a shroud of death and the aftermath of mourning, Steve hasn’t fully been able to fit himself into the slot he now belongs. He hasn’t quite figured out where that is yet. But helping along the way is Bucky. With a kiss every morning and a sunrise played by the skilled brush of fingers along smooth ivory. A song to chase away the bad memories and replace them with better ones. The husband that refuses to let Steve be swallowed by a pit of despair, but still allows him the dignity of mourning. Steve doesn’t know if he can ever truly repay him.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs when the grandfather clock downstairs reminds him that the hours are ticking away. “Bucky, it’s getting late.” His husband shakes his head as though he means to protest the time and snuggles closer. Steve chuckles. “You don’t have to do anything but come with me to the restroom so we can get cleaned up.”

Bucky shifts a bit like the idea is somewhat intriguing. He looks up at Steve and smiles. 

“A bath?” 

His voice is quiet and far away, not yet fully up to talking then, even if the idea of a bath has perked him up. Steve pokes his nose and makes him smile more.

“Would you like that?”

It is getting late, but they can survive waiting a little longer before getting into bed to put the day to rest. And Steve will give Bucky anything his heart desires. So when his husband nods, Steve grins and rolls off the bed. He leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“Rest here,” he says. “I’ll draw you a bath and then come back--no?”

Bucky’s shaking his head and lifting himself up. Not enough to get out of the bed and go with Steve just yet, but enough that he’s off the pillows. 

“You, too,” Bucky whispers. Blinks like he’s trying now to rid himself of the fog that wafts around him. “Okay?”

“Me too? You want me to bathe with you?” Steve asks. 

This wouldn’t be the first time, but Steve can remember when they first did. Back at the farmhouse during their Christmastide visit. When Bucky wanted to share a bath with Steve after returning from their journey out to fetch a tree. Warm waters and warm bodies. Pressed together to bring them to a place in the marriage Steve worried they’d never reach -- a place with Bucky’s trust. 

“Please?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, and goes off to run the water. 

It’ll be a tight fit. This tub is not as large or accommodating as the one at the farmhouse, but it will do its best to be helpful. The pipes rattle a little as water rushes out of the faucet. Steve slips his hand under the faucet and lets the water fall over his skin like sweet silk. It’s warm, but not yet at the warmth Bucky prefers. 

As Steve waits for the water to warm up some more, he hears a soft noise behind him and turns to see Bucky perched against the doorframe. There’s a sleepy grin on his face, and for a moment, the two of them just watch each other. A moment where words are not needed because Steve can see them in his husband’s eyes and feel them -- _hear them_ \-- as his own heart beats them over and over. 

A declaration of love, of adoration -- devotion. Steve is suddenly so filled with so much emotion he feels as though he can burst. Steve doesn’t quite understand it himself. He already knows he loves his husband. But for a moment he drowns in the feeling. Sinking further and further away from all that he thought he knew, and when he resurfaces, Steve feels a strong urge to cry. Again.

They’re not bad tears, not really, but they come rushing hard and fast, and when Steve stretches his arm to Bucky, Bucky understands immediately. An order, so to speak, one that he could easily dismiss, but instead doesn’t hesitate to follow as he comes over to his headship. Husband, he calls him. Husband, Steve calls himself despite the legal obligations his position require of him as headship. Their fingers tangle together -- metal and flesh, and Steve’s love is born anew, forever amazed at how much Bucky’s given him. 

Bucky’s so… so… 

Gloriously wonderful. _Everything_ , Steve decides. Bucky is just everything. Beautiful and sophisticated. Sweet and witty. Made out of so much compassion and honor with a dash or two of spice and a heaping handful of charm that can floor even the most prepared, and he’s all Steve’s. Because Bucky said yes -- if not the first time then the second. When Steve asked for his hand and Bucky tearfully accepted. After disaster and calamity struck and they were both left standing amid broken floors and crumblings walls. 

They’ve picked up the broken pieces of their marriage and put them back together -- rearranged and changed, but every bit theirs. Even better. It belongs to them and only them. 

Teetered at the edge of the tub, Steve guides them both into the dark water. He hasn’t bothered turning the lights on so there’s only a soft glow coming in through the small, round window. Moonlight and starbeams and the faint flicker of fire from the street lamps. 

There’s a big, thick sponge already in the water with them and Steve retrieves it as Bucky settles comfortably against him. Once they’ve found a good position -- one that has tangled legs and Bucky in Steve’s arms -- Steve runs the sponge over his husband’s chest. Bucky’s skin shudders at first touch before accepting and welcoming it. He hums as Steve cleans him off. Chuckles a little when some water dribbles over his face when Steve takes to washing his hair. 

“I love you, too, husband,” Bucky whispers as Steve continues gliding the sponge over his chest. Freezing with his right where it is, Steve kisses the back of Bucky’s head and holds him closer. “Are you feeling better, Steve?”

“I’m…” He thinks on that for a moment. Only one word suits how he feels right now. “Perfect. I’m perfect.”

Perfect. Whatever waits for him outside these private walls and this private moment. A world going on while he still feels the heavy weights of mourning and the added pressure of his mother’s position still left unfilled. Right here, right now, Steve just feels perfect with his husband.

Bucky nuzzles the back of his head under Steve’s clavicle. It feels nice. Wet and a little sloppy, but still nice. 

“I could’ve--” he yawns “--told you that.”

Steve -- holding his husband close and tender in a almost-too-small bathtub -- wants to kiss him. So badly it hurts. It’s a strange ache, loving someone so much -- so _intensely_. Frightening even. A good kind of frightening, but frightening nonetheless. The more Steve loves him, the more it would hurt to lose him. 

A few tears make their presence known in Steve’s eyes at the thought of losing Bucky. Whether tonight, a week from now, a lifetime from now. Steve blinks them away and kisses the top of Bucky’s head. 

This incredible absence he feels without Sarah is strange. He feels it always, in everything he does. Sometimes he forgets that she’s gone. A moment in which he sees something he thinks she’d like to know about or thinks of something he’s like to tell her. The memory of it always hits like a bullet to the chest. 

“You can talk to me, you know,” Bucky murmurs. “About her. If you ever want. Or when you’re ready. I’ll listen. Steve?”

Those tears Steve thought he’d banished burn fresh and new. “Yes?”

“I love you.” The arms twined around Steve’s tighten. “So much.”

“Mm.” Steve buries his face in Bucky’s hair. “I love you, too. Are you feeling okay, now? Back with me?”

“Always with you,” Bucky remarks. “Even when that happens. I’m still with you.”

“And it still…” Steve just needs to know. “It still feels good? Right?”

“Good.” He brings Steve’s knuckles to his lips to kiss them. “Always good. I am happy with you, Steve. I’ve said so before, but, just in case you’ve forgotten. I’m happy with you. Being your husband. I’m happy with you as my headship. I didn’t…” Bucky stops and sighs contently. “I’m just happy.” 

Happy. Such a small, simple word that means so much. Still, this happiness has cost Bucky so much. 

“This won’t last forever,” Steve says. “You know that, right?” When Bucky starts to shift about in an attempt to look at Steve, Steve shakes his head. “I mean, they won’t care about us anymore. Someone else will take the spotlight and we’ll become yesterday’s news. I’ll make it up to you, Bucky. I promise.”

“Make it up to me, Steve?”

“You’ve had to give up so many things. So many hopes and dreams. Your family. Your friends. All in the name of…” Of what? A life rooted in tradition that he never wanted in the first place. A life thrust upon him in a time of anguish and mourning. Steve sighs. “I’ll make sure you have time to see your friends. With or without me. I’ll arrange time with your family. Somehow. I won’t see you isolated from your former life, I swear.”

Bucky is very still in Steve’s arms now. Steve’s even sure that he’s stopped breathing. Until he takes in deep breath and is lifting himself away from Steve and turning completely around to look at him. His cheeks are pink and there are so many words swirling through his eyes though none of them get spoken. Instead, Bucky is suddenly pressing his lips to Steve’s. 

It’s wet and sloppy and the water splashes around them, possibly climbing up and over the sides of the tub as wraps an arm over Bucky. The kiss is eager and hungry, yet hurried, and when Bucky pulls away he leaves his brow against Steve’s. They’re both breathless and there’s water dripping down Bucky’s face, but Steve thinks a few tears might slip in there as well. 

“Six months,” Bucky whispers. Eyes closed and something of an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“Used to it?” Steve questions, brushing some wet hair away from Bucky’s face. “Used to what?”

“You,” he answers. “You being… you.” Bucky moves forward again and plants a kiss at the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Somehow, you still…” He smiles. “It’s your heart, Steve.”

“My heart?”

“The size of your heart still manages to surprise me.” Bucky sighs through a smile. “I wonder if I’ll ever be used to it.”

“I certainly hope not,” Steve answers, heart swelling to twice it’s size as Bucky’s words swirl around inside of it. He pushes some of Bucky’s hair away from his face. “Come now.” Steve gets to his feet It’s getting late. “We both have responsibilities in the morning.”

“Mm.” Bucky lets out a soft whine. “If we must.” 

He huffs a little as he lifts himself away from Steve. He climbs out of the tub and Steve realizes a little too late that he’s held his hands out to help him. Steve wraps them both in towels and they dry off. Talking softly as they do.

They fall into bed together, a tangled mess of two people in love, and Steve does not dream of gold and silver and shadows tonight, but of sweet kisses and musical notes and a most beautiful sunrise. 

~~

Steve is doing better. Steve doesn’t know he’s doing better, but he is. Bucky can tell by Steve’s easier smiles and soft kisses. Rising out of bed quicker in the mornings for his run with Sam instead of the sluggish way he’d force himself three weeks ago. Evening tea with Peggy and Gabe and hosting dinner for Pepper and Tony. Steve has even put out feels for having Bucky’s friends over. No longer does Steve shut Bucky out. While he doesn’t always hand himself over in times of need, a simple nudge is usually all it takes to get him to open up. At least a little. 

Even in the face of this new obstacle, these nightmares Steve’s been having, Bucky was able to console him as best he could. Last night, Steve fell asleep in his arms and, as far as Bucky knows, slept peacefully. He’s still asleep now, as flecks of silver dust pirouette in the thin beams of sunshine that sneak into the room. Bucky leans over him and presses a kiss to his temple. 

“Rest, husband,” he whispers to sleeping ears. “I love you.”

He touches his lips to that same spot and smiles as Steve shifts a bit in his sleep. Bucky slips out of the bed and quietly makes his way downstairs. 

Steve hasn’t been eating as well as he should be. It’s not like the weeks leading up to his intense and sudden illness, but this time due to grief. Bucky had very little appetite for weeks after his father died. But then, he didn’t have a husband to take care of him. As Steve’s spouse, it’s Bucky’s job to care for his headship. So he heads to the kitchen to fix up breakfast for them both. 

The icebox is stocked, as it should be. Truvie is always on top of these things so Bucky never has to worry. He decides on making flapjacks and bacon and eggs. Steve likes his eggs half-boiled, so Bucky gets the eggs out and a pot of water without turning it on yet. First, he makes the batter for flapjacks, and thinks fleetingly about the act of having to cook for his husband everyday. 

If this was a more traditional household, picking out and then getting Steve’s approval for morning and evening meals would be an everyday occurrence. Possibly even the expectation of making every meal -- as Bucky suspected would happen when Steve told him he needed to learn out to cook. Then again, if Steve ran a more traditional household, Bucky’s life would be wildly different. 

Though these six months have proven beyond a reasonable doubt that Steve has no love for tradition, it still baffles Bucky’s mind. In the weeks before their marriage, he’d tried so hard to get used to what he thought his life would be like. Under the law, a married couple becomes one entity. In an uneven marriage, the Headship is supposed to represent this entity, placing them in control of everything. Bucky was supposed to become Steve’s property, giving him all his rights and privileges. Their mutual matrimonial consent literally became a contract to give himself to his husband as he desired. 

In a more traditional household, it’d be his job to run a respectable home and secure the happiness, comfort, and well-being of his headship. Bucky would be expected to oversee, organize, and delegate the staff to keep Steve’s household proper and presentable at all times. Any dinner parties -- which they’d be expected to host a lot more frequently -- would be arranged by him in an effort to bring prestige to his husband. If the event was deemed a success, it would look good for Steve and praise would be given to him. If it was deemed a failure, it would look bad on Steve, and fault would lie with Bucky. 

He’d be working alongside Steve at City Hall for the Judiciary Bureau -- if he’d been allowed to keep a job at all. If not, he’d be kept at home to oversee the House and nothing more. Though, technically and legally, all of Bucky’s wages belong to Steve, Steve hasn’t enforced the idea that Bucky has no means of finances. He hasn’t dictated any set amount that Bucky’s allowed or not allowed to use, weekly or monthly. 

In a more traditional household, nothing in it would belong to Bucky. Even if he was allowed the luxury of having the things from his old House brought over, they would still belong to Steve, as would Bucky. 

Instead of seeing Bucky as a secondary member of their home, Steve sees him as an equal. Never demanding strict protocol and expectations. Though agreeing to marry Steve was a contract of consent, Steve has never seized ownership of his body in any way the way others would have. 

Bucky smiles to himself as he mixes batter for flapjacks, remembering a time, months ago, when Steve did it for him. When tension and uncertainty filled every bit of space between them. That smile grows at the realization that tension and uncertainty has been replaced with love and trust. Even the shaky trust that Bucky shattered with the admission of what occurred between him and Lord Pierce has been rebuilt and renewed. 

“Bucky?”

The eggs are in boiling water and the bacon is sizzling when Steve ambles into the kitchen just as Bucky is pouring scoops of batter onto the frying pan.

“Good morning, husband,” Bucky greets pleasantly. “Did you sleep well?”

“I… did actually.” Steve rubs a hand into his eye. He looks well-rested. Better than Bucky’s seen in weeks. He smiles at Bucky as he glances around the kitchen. “What’s all this?”

Bucky shrugs. “I just thought it’d be nice.” He grins at Steve. “I’m being a good spouse to my headship. Isn’t this what I ought to be doing?”

Steve chuckles. “Maybe in other households. In mine, it’s optional. All I want is you.”

An incredible sense of wonder and gratitude washes over Bucky; Steve’s words fitting around his shoulders like a sweet, comfortable blanket. First flipping over the flapjack that’s cooking, Bucky puts the spatula down and bounds over to his husband. Having Steve here has put him in quite the chipper mood and he plants a kiss on Steve’s lips. 

Steve stares blankly at him. Like Bucky’s kiss has cleared his mind of all thought. For a second, he doesn’t move at all. Then his mouth curves up into a dazzling smile, and Bucky’s proudly excited that he can still do that. 

“What was that for?” Steve asks. 

“Mm.” Bucky steps up close to snuggle against his husband. Steve makes no complaint and wraps his arms around him. “Nothing. Just… happy to be with you, is all.”

He can feel Steve sigh happily and for a few minutes, they don’t move at all. Lazy sunbeams stretch across the floor and caress their barefeet, warm and cozy. 

Until Steve says, “I believe your flapjacks are going to burn.”

“Damn,” Bucky mutters and reluctantly tears himself away from Steve to tend to that. He gets there just in time. Flips the finished piece of food onto a plate before getting ready to make another. “Sit down, Steve,” Bucky says. “Let me spoil you today.”

“You wrote me a song,” Steve reminds him as he pulls the chair out to sit. “I’d say that qualifies as spoiling me.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” Bucky says with a smile. Steve liked his song. _His_ song. “You wouldn’t want me to get arrested, would you?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Bucky can feel the tension immediately spike through the room. The walls pulse with it. With the unsettling reminder that, of the two of them, Steve is the one with greater risk of being arrested. Bucky’s composed a song, yes, but it’s incomplete and small and played only within the privacy of his home. Even if word did spread of it, there would be whispers and gossip, probably a few looks and stares when they were in public. It wouldn’t look good, but then, many ways they’ve handled their marriage hasn’t exactly been in the service of favoring tradition.

Steve though, Steve’s a well-known and public artist -- an artist holding a position in Parliament. It’s just that nobody knows it. If they found out…

Bucky looks over his shoulder. Steve doesn’t answer that. He just sits at the table, watching Bucky cook him breakfast and fixes a smile on his face. Returning the smile, Bucky feels the air ease around them. They’re still okay. So is the morning, and Bucky finishes preparing the platters so they can eat together. 

When Bucky turns around, Steve rises from his seat as though he means to help him. He even goes to take a step towards the coffee pot.

“No, no!” Bucky exclaims as he places the food on the table. “Leave that! I’ll tend to you.”

“But…”

“Truvie will be here in the morning to serve us. You can stand for one day of being sickeningly traditional. Now sit down.”

Steve blinks a few times before doing so. Sitting down and just staring at Bucky for a moment before cracking another smile.

“Traditional?” he repeats. “Is it very traditional to speak to your headship that way? You’re awfully bossy.”

Bucky blushes. The tone of Steve’s voice is playful and carefree. Something Bucky hasn’t heard since before Sarah died. He wants to chase it and keep it with them. 

“You have my apologies, sir,” he says. 

Not even his own parents were so traditional. At least, not all the time. Bucky supposes that his mother may have called his father ‘sir’ in the early stages of their marriage. She did every so often, he recalls, even after he and his sister were born. It’s not an outdated practice by any means. 

When Steve clears his throat, Bucky realizes that he’s just standing there with the coffee pot in his hand. His eyes find Steve’s.

“Well?” Steve is smiling. Eyes sparkling with mischief. “What are you waiting for, spouse? Serve your headship.”

Something warm and fuzzy shoots through Bucky’s veines. Steve’s never talked to him like that before and his brain seems to short circuit for a moment. That was an actual order in a most traditional sense. Not for the public or for reasons Steve deems necessary. Just a plain and simple order, and it settles over Bucky’s bones. Pushes his muscles to… obey. A plain and simple order giving way to plain and simple obedience. Just like that. 

They’re playing, Bucky knows that. This is not something Steve would require or even _want_ everyday. But the change that Steve’s inspire in Bucky still amazes him. A starburst to light the way in darkness. 

Reaching the table, Bucky pours his husband’s coffee and then prepares it the way he knows he likes. Cream and two sugars. Once that’s done, Bucky lifts Steve’s plate away from the setting and begins to put food on it, the way his mother used to do at home for everyone until he and Rebecca were old enough to serve themselves. 

Though Bucky’s never performed a menial task in his life -- he was never taught to serve, his House never entertaining the pursuit of him marrying up -- he has memories to help him work through this without fumbling. 

Bucky remains silent as he fills Steve’s plate. It’s not proper to speak to someone with higher status without permission or being spoken to first. The whole time, Steve just sits back, though his posture is lacking the ease and finesse of someone comfortable with being tended to. This is not the way it was done in his House. Steve might be used to servants and waitstaff, but not like this. Not this intimacy and closeness. 

Finished with the task, Bucky goes to place Steve’s plate back down in front of him. At the same time, Steve’s hand lifts. An act to take the plate from Bucky’s hand. They freeze. Bucky folds his lips in to keep from laughing and Steve forces his arm back down. 

“I could never do this all the time,” Steve says as Bucky puts the plate where it belongs. “I like you talking to me.”

Bucky chuckles. “Is that permission to speak then, sir?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Very well.” Bucky smirks at him. “I was beginning to miss the sound of my own voice.”

Steve snickers as he takes a sip of his coffee. His food goes untouched while Bucky fixes his own plate. Which means, assuming they’re still flirting with tradition, that Bucky cannot eat when he’s given permission to sit. Not until Steve either takes his own first bite or says Bucky can. 

As he gets his food ready, Bucky wonders what he’d’ve been like as someone’s headship. Unlike Steve, he’s used to being served, having grown up with ideals that Society favors. Maybe not traditionalists like Lord Pierce, but still on the comfortable side of tradition. Would he, if he’d been married up to, enforce such roles? Would he expect his wife or husband to serve him in silence? To wait for him to say they can eat? 

Probably. At least some of it. He likes to think that he would’ve been fair and treated his spouse with dignity and respect. But then, after having his own headship so patient and understanding, who cares more about friendship and love and companionship than rules and tradition, Bucky’s not sure any of it is fair at all. How could it be? There is no fairness in losing one’s rights to another by meaning of status. Bucky’s stuck dizzy at knowing he used to think nothing of it. Not until such a fate was thrust upon him. 

Bucky is just standing there with his plate in his hand. He’s about to sit down in the seat designated for him, when he realizes that’s not proper protocol. 

“Oh.” He blushes. “Is everything to your comfort, husband?” Oops. “I mean: sir.”

Steve is grinning at him again. Instead of answering that and allowing Bucky to take his seat, he glances over the spread in front of him. 

“No,” he answers when his eyes lift to meet Bucky’s. “It’s not.”

“No?” That actually does surprise him. Not that he thinks Steve is truly displeased with him, but, as Bucky looks over Steve’s place setting and food and the rest of the table, he can’t see anything that would indicate something is wrong. “Well…” And now Bucky’s actually at a loss. He snickers. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Steve eyes him strangely. “Nothing at all. Put that plate down.”

It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Steve’s told him to do something. He looks down at the plate he’s holding between his hands. The sight of it is almost surprising. Bucky’d forgotten he’d been holding anything at all. He puts it down and looks back into the waiting eyes of his husband. 

Steve says, “Come closer.” He pats the table. “Do you feel fear of your headship, spouse? Listen to your husband. I said come closer.”

Bucky shakes his head. Attempts to clear the fog that swirls through it. Steve is shockingly good at this, and as the order registers, Bucky takes an involuntary step closer. 

Once he’s within reach, Steve turns his hand for him. He’s still just far enough away that Bucky needs to reach out in order to place his hand in Steve’s. The second he does, Steve adjusts his hand so that his fingers can shackle around Bucky’s wrist, and he pulls him in.

There’s a hand at Bucky’s waist, firm and possessive, and it keeps him from losing his balance. Steve places him between the table and his knees, spread only a little. The thumb by his hip presses into his skin hard enough to make Bucky gasp. 

“Mm.” Steve’s eyes are dark and heated. “I believe… this is my right. As your headship.” Bucky’s throat is dry, and he can’t say anything as Steve takes to trailing a hand beneath his shirt. Steve leans in to kiss the spot on Bucky’s hip that he’s been touching. “Your body…” His nose skims the brim of Bucky’s night pants, “is mine.”

Bucky whimpers as Steve pulls at the drawstring of his pants. Not a word is said as Steve eases Bucky’s pants down and then licks the tip of Bucky’s exposed erection. 

“Steve…” Bucky hums. His mind is racing but no thought sticks around long enough to truly form. “Breakfast…” He might be mumbling something about their meal, but he’s not sure. “It’ll get…” Bucky blanks completely when Steve starts to suckle, “cold…” 

“Such a shame,” Steve murmurs, and then pulls Bucky onto his lap. Fixes him so that he’s straddled over his crotch. Bucky can feel Steve’s hardness through his pants. That’s all the separates their cocks from touching. Just that thin bit of fabric, and Steve rocks his hips. “I’d been hoping to take a taste of something else first…”

A shudder runs through Bucky’s limbs and he practically goes limp right there over Steve. Last night’s love making -- the first time since before Sarah died -- was sweet and slow and tender. Steve laying over him and easing into Bucky’s body, thrust after blissful thrust sending Bucky to uncharted skies. 

But this is different. This is raw and primal. Steve making way for baser instincts to spring forward. 

“You can.” Bucky’s not sure what he’s saying. Of course he can. Steve’s his headship. But through the haze and fog, Bucky knows that it’s what Steve likes to hear. That he wants to know it’s always okay. And it is. It’s always okay. “If you want.”

“I always want.” Steve’s words wash over him. Makes Bucky whimper. “How could I not? Just look at you.” His lips brush over Bucky’s collarbone, hot breath spreading over his skin. His hands slip under his shirt and trail up his ribcage. “And you’re mine. All _mine_.”

There’s olive oil somewhere in the kitchen. After last night, Bucky’s body is still prepared enough that just some slick will do. He doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering Steve’s name until he hears him snicker. 

“Please,” Bucky breathes. “Husband…”

The growl in Steve’s throat catches Bucky off guard. He’s never heard him like that before and when Steve heaves out of the chair to pin Bucky to the edge of the table, Bucky gasps. 

He has no time to do anything before Steve is all over him. Kissing up and down his neck and frantically ripping Bucky’s shirt off. He trails his lips all over Bucky’s chest, across his tight nipples and down to his belly. 

“Stay here,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear when he balances him right on the side of the table. “ _Don’t_ move.”

Steve darts away then, and for one fleeting second, Bucky’s can’t fathom why he’s been left alone. His mind spirals for a heartbeat or two and then Steve is back. With the olive oil. Setting things right again. He promised he’d never leave Bucky like this. He hasn’t. 

“I need to be inside of you.” Steve is already shedding his pants, and all Bucky can do is nod. Seems Steve is just as anxious to get in as Bucky is to have him there. “Come here.”

There’s a sheen on Steve’s length now that he’s readied himself, and he yanks on Bucky’s hips just enough that Bucky needs to throw his palms behind him to lean on the table. His hands crash into dishes and plates. Good gets tossed around. Glasses knock over and drinks spill. One piece of glass might fall to the floor and shatter, but Bucky’s not positive. Not when Steve starts to thrust inside of him with Bucky’s body pinned against the edge of their morning room table. 

One of Bucky’s feet finds the chair behind Steve for balance. His other leg wraps around Steve. When Steve pushes in deeper, he swathes Bucky in his arms so that Bucky can do the same around his neck and he no longer needs to keep his hands behind him. So he latches them into Steve’s hair and moans into the morning sunlight. 

“Bucky…” Steve grunts. Over and over. “Bucky… Bucky… Bucky…”

He pushes in fast and deep. Grunting with each rough thrust as every gasp of air shared between them mixes together to become one indistinguishable breath. Steve’s fingers dig into Bucky’s back. Hard enough to leave small bruises. Claiming his husband in the form of fingerprinted marks. Bucky tugs at Steve’s hair to pull him in even more. They’re not close enough. He needs more of Steve. Bucky needs more… more… more… 

Molten gold rushes through his body. So close to the surface of his skin he feels as though he might burn up right then and there in a glorious ball of lustful flames. The sound of Steve’s voice saying his name is so far away and yet right in his ear. Morning light continues to illuminate the room, filling the air with sparkles that glitter around Bucky with every thrust his husband makes. 

He’s helpless to stop the bliss from crashing through him. Eagerly trying to fill Bucky up to the brim so he can burst in stardust around his husband. Steve is still saying things. _Bucky… mine… all mine… love you… I love you…_

Bucky’s not quite prepared for the ecstasy that pours over him. Pulls all his muscles tight until they can go no further and snaps them all back again. Every sensation washes over him like an ocean wave. Completely engulfing, and for a moment, Bucky drowns in them. 

When he resurfaces, he finds himself cuddled on Steve’s lap, his shirt carefully put back on him but still open. As the world reshapes around him, Bucky lifts his chin and finds his body feeling numb and tingly, like maybe if he tried to touch it, his hand would pass right through. He almost doesn’t feel real. Like perhaps he’s left his body and hasn’t quite found his way back. A hand strokes over his head. Strong and warm, and Steve’s heart sings to him. 

“Hey.” Steve’s voice bring him closer to feeling whole again. “Bucky.” He kisses his head, and Bucky finds that he’s still very real. “How are you doing?”

“Mm.” He shifts on Steve’s lap and tries to look up. “Hungry.”

Something brushes along Bucky’s lips. He opens his mouth and bites down on a piece of bacon. Steve doesn’t try to get him to talk any more than that and instead concentrates on feeding him the whole piece followed by a flapjack, bit by bit. 

“Better?” Steve asks. 

“Yes.” Bucky presses his face against Steve’s chest and looks up at him with a smile. “Perhaps being more traditional would have its benefits.”

 

Steve chuckles. “I don’t believe what we just did counts as traditional.” He gestures to the mess. The table is in shambles, his plate overturned as well as the platter of flapjacks. On the floor is shattered glass. One of the coffee cups did not survive their morning escapades. 

“Well…” Bucky eyes the mess and looks back at Steve before laughing. “At least Truvie isn’t in today.”

“If Truvie was in today I’m sure she would give her notice.”

Snickering, Bucky slips off of Steve’s lap. His legs still feel a little wobbly so he needs to catch his balance when he first stands. Steve’s hand lands at his hip to help. 

“Come on, my Sweetheart,” Steve murmurs. “We really should straighten up and maybe eat the breakfast you worked so hard on.”

Already crouched down to pick up the pieces of the broken glass, Bucky smiles and peers up at his husband. 

“You won’t find me complaining about a delay in our meal if that’s how you’re going to behave.”

A blush whispers along Steve’s cheeks as he gets up from his chair and goes to the broom closet to.

It only take a few minutes to clean and reset the table so that no one would be able to tell anything happened. The food, as Bucky suspected, is cold, so Steve puts it in the oven to rewarm it while Bucky goes to fetch the morning’s paper. When he gets back in, Steve is sipping at a new cup of coffee. He smiles at Bucky when he’s handed the paper and puts the coffee down. 

A tiny drop of it spills out and lands on the lacy tablecloth. It spreads just a little, like a smile for Bucky and Steve on this morning of new beginnings. Bucky isn’t naive enough to think that Steve is just better now. But he hasn’t looked at Bucky like that in weeks. Hasn’t looked at him and just smiled and appeared happy. There’s been ghosts in the corners of every grin. Haunting images that flitter through his eyes whenever he’s gazed at him. Not now. 

Now, Steve’s face is open and warm. Peering at Bucky as though _he’s_ the one trying to figure out how he’s gotten so lucky. 

“I love you,” Bucky blurts just a second after Steve says it, too.

They both duck their chins down in a shared laugh and Bucky leans in to kiss his husband’s hairline. His fingers trace the bottom of Steve’s lip. Still in the shape of a smile.

“I’ll make you another plate, husband,” Bucky offers, and is already moving to do so. “Just relax.”

Steve sits back with the paper in his hands and doesn’t give arguments. He smiles some more at Bucky before flicking the paper open and reading the day’s headline. 

And all the color drains from his face. 

“Steve?”

Bucky almost drops the plate. Steve looks about ready to pass out. 

Something is wrong. Whatever news the paper’s brought has cast a dark stormcloud over their cheery Sunday morning. The smile of coffee waits just as warily as Bucky for Steve to answer. Steve doesn’t say a word. His eyes just scan over the paper. Several times. Even when they lift away from the words that have him so ashen it looks as though he’s seen a ghost, he says nothing.

Stomach falling to his feet, Bucky feels like he’s going to faint, and he still doesn’t even know what’s wrong. But if it has Steve so stunned that he can’t speak, it must be something horrible. 

“Steve? Husband, what--” Bucky cuts off when Steve just rises to his feet and leaves the morning room without saying one word. 

For a moment, all Bucky can do is stare at the empty space his husband’s vacated and then that ugly stain of coffee on the fresh linen. From his spot, he stares at the paper. He’s afraid to look. Since he can’t see the headline from where he is, Bucky’s fingers pinch the corner of the paper so he can slide it over to him.

The words printed across the page are like a knife to his stomach. Stabbing deeper the longer he stares at them.

**Lord Alexander Pierce to take over for the late Lady Sarah Rogers**

***

It’s been almost three hours and Steve still hasn’t returned. Bucky can hear the loud music playing from the phonograph in Steve’s studio as he sits at the top of the basement stairs. He’s been there ever since clearing the table and tossing the uneaten food away. Steve needs some time alone to process everything. Bucky’s not sure if he’s read the article that accompanies the headline that’s sent their lovely morning into a downward spiral. 

There’s not much to it. Just talks of the long and grueling process it’s been deciding Sarah’s replacement. Mentions of the work she did and that Lord Pierce has the full confident of the Courts to continue it. 

Bucky’s stomach hurts. This is what Lord Pierce has always wanted. All he needed was a little bit more power and his influence would spread even further than it already does. The changes that Sarah worked so hard to bring about will stop. Possibly even be overturned. Tradition, as he sees it, back in it’s rightful form. 

And just to make things worse, all the cases that Steve works on now need to be approved by Lord Pierce first. This is Steve’s worst nightmare. 

If Bucky’s stomach hurts, he can’t imagine what Steve is feeling. Bucky knows that he sometimes escapes to the solitude of his studio to drown out the world for a while. But it’s been so long already and he hasn’t eaten and he’s only starting to ease out of grief. Maybe it really hasn’t been that long. It’s not like Steve’s never spent hours and hours down there. But Bucky is worried. 

He waits another thirty minutes before descending the stairs and slowly approaching the studio. The door isn’t latched, so he just eases it open. His heart falls. 

Steve isn’t painting. He’s not sketching or drawing or really doing anything. He’s just… sitting there. Sitting on the stool by the workbench and just staring out at nothing. 

“Steve?” Bucky says softly. “Are you…”

No. No, that’s not the right question. Then again, Bucky’s not so sure what even _could_ be the right thing to say. Maybe nothing. 

_Please, tell me what to do,_ he asks his heart or maybe his brain, though neither seem to have an answer for him. 

Everything is so quiet. Even with the music blaring, it makes no difference. The silence from Steve even overwhelms the songs playing. Bucky just stands there. He stares at Steve like he’s never even seen him before. Just a shell of what his husband once was. Steve is unmoving. If it wasn’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, there’d be no proof that he was even breathing. Maybe Steve’s gone into some sort of shock. Maybe Bucky should call Bruce. Maybe… Maybe…

Bucky darts into the studio and moves in front of Steve. He touches his face and gets no reaction.

“Steve?” he whispers. Panic, like the unwanted fog of a desolate night, swirls through his voice. “Steve, my love, look at me.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of a response. His husband just stares blankly. Mind shut off to the world that won’t let him move on from the injustices it’s served him lately. Just one push too many. Too soon after the last blow. Completely unexpected and Steve had been too unprepared. 

Bucky crouches down to look into the blue eyes that, up till late, has housed all the sunshine he ever needed to bloom into the new man he is today. And finds only shards of night. 

“Stevie…” 

He taps fingers over Steve’s cheek. Presses lips to Steve’s mouth. Shakes Steve’s shoulder. Until a shaky breath breaks through his own lungs. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reach his husband and bring him back. He puts his hands at Steve’s face. Holds firm. 

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky states. Voice commanding. “Look at me. You look at me _right now_.” 

When that doesn’t work, Bucky knows he can try only one more thing before he calls for Bruce. Damn what Steve would or wouldn’t want. Bucky won’t let him slip away into the far reaches of darkness. 

“Husband. My love.” Bucky gently slides his arms over Steve’s head. His husband is dipped forward just enough that the top of his head rests against Bucky’s chest. Bucky just holds him. “It’s okay. I’m here. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

The change in Steve is subtle, but Bucky can feel it. A sudden shift in his breathing followed by a careful lift of his arms until they’re wrapped around Bucky’s torso. The position they’re in adjusts for comfort -- finding Steve engulfed in Bucky’s embrace. Both holding onto each other as though fearful the world will fall apart if they don’t. 

Bucky says again, “I love you, Steve. I’m here. I’m always here.”

He doesn’t think Steve is crying. Despite the gasps and hitches in his breath, this seems to be a tearless release of sudden heartache. When Steve’s hands clench into Bucky’s shirt, turns his head just enough so that he can press a firm kiss to the side of Steve’s neck. 

“I don’t know what to do.”

Bucky doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re suddenly swimming through his eyes. Hearing Steve’s voice, as weak and as lost as it sounds, is an unbelievable relief. Only Bucky doesn’t have an answer for him. Not even a suggestion. Up until marrying Bucky, the job had been Steve’s life. Case after case and fighting for justice for those who needed it most. Fighting tooth and nail to see fairness prevail. And now it’s been taken from him in a most cunning way. 

There is, however, one thing that comes to mind. And Steve probably won’t like it. 

Pulling away from the limbs locked around him, Bucky rests his hands at the base of Steve’s neck. This time, Steve looks at him. Sees him, Bucky’s sure. His eyes are watery, but no tears fall. 

“Steve,” he says. “Let’s go away. Come with me somewhere. Or… take me somewhere. Anywhere.” 

Steve blinks a few times, ridding himself of the unshed tears, and pulls his eyebrows in. Emotion flashes across his face. Confusion. Insult. Hurt. All of it. 

“You want me to run away?” Steve whispers. 

Because, yes, that’s what Bucky wants him to do. He wants to make Steve leave and be safe. But not how Steve sees it. Not forever. Just for now. 

“No, Steve,” Bucky replies. “Not… run away. A… a break. You need a break, husband.” His head hurts. His throat feels too tight. His lungs ache. “Just some time to think. Away from all of this.”

“Bucky…”

“ _Please_ , Steve.” Bucky closes his eyes. “Just come away with me. For a little while. We can come up with a plan, I’m sure of it, but _not_ if we’re here. Not with this breathing down our necks.” He looks at his husband again. “You can take time off.” He’s allowed it, and as his headship, can pull Bucky from work with no troubles. 

For a while, Steve doesn’t answer. He just continues to look at things Bucky cannot see as his suggestion stirs inside of him. Bucky can see him turning it over in his mind. Weighing the pros and cons. Stubbornly thinking of this as weakness while maybe wondering if Bucky has a point. 

_Please, say yes,_ Bucky’s heart pleads. 

_Please,_ Bucky thinks. _Say yes._

“We…” Steve has trouble with the words. “We can… go someplace warm?” It sounds like a question, when really the entire decision in on him. “Maybe across the sea.” His eyes lift to Bucky’s. Bucky can feel a spasm of hope twist through him. “Somewhere with beaches.” Steve lifts his hand to fix it to Bucky’s cheek. “You’d like that.”

A lump, neither painful nor obtrusive, forms in Bucky’s throat. He presses Steve’s hand against his cheek some more. Nuzzles into it. 

“We can go to the Arctic for all I care,” he murmurs. “So long as you’re with me, I’ll have all the warmth I need.”

A twitch of a smile. A soft close of his eyes. Steve lowers his chin before sweeping his gaze back up to Bucky.

“Okay,” he whispers. 

“O-okay?” His heart gives an ecstatic leap. “You mean… yes?”

Steve nods. “Yes, Bucky. I’m going to take you away. And we’ll figure this out. Together.”

“Oh, Steve!” His voice splinters in joyous pieces, all of them skipping about the room as he throws his arms around his husband. “Oh, thank you. _Thank_ you.” Bucky kisses his cheek and looks him in the eye. “You won’t regret this, I swear. We’ll go away. Spend some time alone and we’ll rest and we can make love all day long.” Not even the flush he feels to his skin is powerful enough to contain his excitement. “Can we really go across the sea, Steve?” he asks. “I’ve never been. Father used to talk about taking Rebecca and me and Mother, but never got the chance. Have you traveled there before? How long does it take? Do you know?”

When Steve snickers softly, Bucky realizes that he’s rambling. Letting loose wild statements and questions so quickly he’s actually a little out of breath.

“About five days,” Steve answers quietly. “And yes, I’ve been across the sea. My parents took me to the Eire when I was younger. I got sick on the ship. And yes,” he says again. “We can go across the sea.”

Feeling as though he can burst with the joy that pumps through him, Bucky latches onto his husband again. 

“You’ll be okay, Steve,” he murmurs. “I promise. I’m going to help you.”

Face buried in Bucky’s shoulder, Steve nods and holds onto him tightly again. He speaks into Bucky’s shirt.

“I know,” he says. It’s muffled, and Bucky can feel his hot breath seep into the fabric over him. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no.” Bucky squeezes tighter and cups a hand over the back of Steve’s head. “It’s okay, husband. You did nothing wrong.”

“I worried you,” he states as though confessing some crime. “I just… didn’t know what to do.”

“I would have come down sooner. But I thought you’d be painting.”

Steve nods. “I wanted to. I thought I would. But I just… felt nothing.”

“Nothing,” Bucky repeats. The word tasting foul on his tongue. This is not a room for nothing. It never has been. This is the place where the world bends to Steve. Behaves for Steve and only Steve. Bucky won’t let that be taken away from him. Alexander Pierce may be able to take most, but not all. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Steve asks. “What is your idea?”

Limbs slowly untangling, Bucky removes himself from Steve and takes a measured step back. Truth be told, he feels an insesent need to be close enough to touch him. As though he might implode if there’s too far a reach between them. 

“I was thinking…” He turns to show Steve his left shoulder. Shiny and silver and clean. Where the House of Barnes’ emblem once stood happy and proud. Painted on by his father and chipped away by a stranger in the name of tradition. “Would you paint the House Rogers’ crest on my arm?”

This is not the first time Bucky’s thought of it. The idea has been floating through Bucky’s mind for some time now. Wisps of it growing more and more potent and now he’s decided. If Steve agrees, he’ll wear the House of Rogers’ crest upon his arm proudly and keep his family in his heart, where they’ve always been anyway. 

Steve is a mix of responses. He seems startled by the request. One he just never imagined to be made. He seems confused by the request. As if Bucky asking for such a thing just makes no sense. And, most of all, he seems cautiously honored by the request. Bucky’s interest in having the House’s crest painted on his arm for all to see making him smile softly.

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that for me, Bucky,” he says. “That was… special. Between you and your father. You--”

“It was. It still is. Special, I mean.” Bucky touches the blank spot on his arm. “Nothing will change that because you’ve allowed it to be so.” He takes Steve’s hand and brings his fingers to his lips. Kisses and then taps them. “My family will still be my family even if there’s a new crest on my arm. And I’m not doing it for you. I want to do it for me. Show the world I’m yours, Steve? Please?”

Steve’s fingers graze the spot in question. Running smoothly over cool metal and clinking quietly over smooth plates. Fingers still there, he looks over to the paints on the workbench. 

“I might…” He’s talking to Bucky, but also to himself. The room is slowly starting to stir around them. Steve’s heart and mind breathing life and light where there was nothing just moments before. “Have a better idea.”

His hands are at Bucky’s waist before he can even respond to that. Steve doesn’t elaborate either. He just stands and turns with Bucky. Lifting him up onto the workbench in one lithe movement. Absently. He’s paying more attention to the idea growing in his mind than what he’s doing. 

Bucky gets placed next to paints and brushes, and though Steve is busy as he starts mixing those paints, he lifts a finger to Bucky’s chin and coaxes his gaze away.

“Look that way,” he instructs. 

“I can’t watch?” Bucky asks, and turns back without thinking. 

Still not looking at him, Steve puts his fingers back to Bucky’s chin and moves him away again. 

“No. Listen to your husband, Bucky.”

A shiver runs down Bucky’s spine. It tingles his whole body and, this time, he listens. Forces himself not to look even if watching Steve paint is one of his favorite things. 

Steve is gentle as he works. Lifting and twisting and maneuvering Bucky’s arm as though handling the most precious, fragile treasure he has the privilege of touching. Though Bucky can’t feel the paint on him, he can feel Steve move about. And whether he can see him or not, the air is still electric. A beating pulse that thumps through the room. The fine hairs all over Bucky’s body rise. A magnetic reaction, almost a need to be as near to Steve as possible. 

Bucky remains as still as possible while keeping his eyes trained on the unfinished artwork to the right of him. Canvases that have just the ghost of images on them. Shapes and swirls and bits of colors that haven’t yet been brought to life. Bucky wonders if they’re jealous at all as they watch Steve start a new work while they remain incomplete. He wonders what happened with them. If Steve lost his thought or inspiration or if the art itself just wouldn’t cooperate with him. The thought causes a rush of warmth run through Bucky seeing them. No matter what happens, Bucky trusts Steve enough that he’s sure he’d never leave him unfinished. That Steve won’t lose him in his thoughts or has inspiration. And he has enough faith in their marriage and love -- love, so much love -- that whatever uncooperative obstacle they face, they’ll beat it. 

When Bucky falls, he knows that Steve will be there to help him back to his feet. To brush the dust and dirt off and hold him up for however long Bucky needs. And when Steve has trouble flying, Bucky will be his wings. If Steve has to crawl through Hell, Bucky will be there on hands and knees with him. 

After a bit of time, there’s some straining in his neck, but he doesn’t dare turn to look at what his husband’s doing. He needs to curl his toes though. Curl his toes and the fingers of his right hand. He keeps his jaw tightly clenched and tries to breathe slowly so as not to disrupt his working husband. 

Bucky’s not sure how much time passes, but by the time Bucky hears Steve put the brush down and not pick it up again, he’s dizzy and lightheaded and there are tingles running through his whole body. Since he’s not sure if it’s safe to look yet, he keeps focusing on the unfinished work.

Even when Steve moves away from his left side and comes to stand by his right, Bucky doesn’t turn his head. All he does is lift his gaze to meet Steve’s. 

“Hello, husband,” he says. Finds his voice sounding a little off. Like he hasn’t used it in days and has forgotten how. “Are you finished?”

Steve answers that with a slight brush of their lips. Touching his fingers lightly to Bucky’s chin to tilt him into the softest of kisses. 

“I can change it,” Steve whispers. “If you don’t like it.”

“I can look then?”

Steve takes a moment before nodding. Just in case he might change his mind, Bucky takes a few more seconds before looking to see what Steve has done for him. Bucky turns. He looks. What he sees leaves him breathless. 

“Steve…” he breathes. 

His fingers lift to graze the spot on his arm where he’d asked Steve to paint the House of Rogers’ crest. That’s not what he’s drawn. 

“Have I ever told you what the House Rogers’ crest means?” Steve asks quietly. Gently takes Bucky’s wrist to guide his hand away from his shoulder so that he doesn’t smudge the drying paint. He touches Bucky’s chin again. Bucky looks away from the painting and back at Steve with a shake of his head. “It’s a shield,” he explains. “Our House motto--”

“Justice, loyalty, perseverance, truth,” Bucky recites for him. His fingers absently turn his wedding ring where those words are etched into the metal it’s made from.

“Yes.” Steve’s fingers sweep across his own wedding ring. “The House of Rogers is an old House. Our crest is meant to protect our motto. Keep it safe from those who would try to tear it down. It’s the greatest defense someone might have. But what most people _don’t_ know is that it’s also a weapon. Corner our House” -- Steve leans in a steals a kiss -- “And we’ll push back with all our might. What does your star mean?”

It takes Bucky a moment or two to realize that Steve’s asked him a question. As his mind catches up to the moment, he smiles. This is actually something he’s told Steve before, just not in the context of the House Barnes’ crest. He shared it first with Steve years and years ago in a moment that Steve’s held in his heart all this time. 

“A hope in darkness,” he tells him. “Even the smallest light…”

“Shines bright in the dark,” Steve finishes with a smile. He closes his eyes and kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I should have known. You said before, earlier, I mean, about your family and a new crest, and I thought…” He looks back to Bucky’s shoulder. Where there’s now half the House of Rogers’ shield and half the House of Barnes’ star joining together to form one crest never before seen. A one of a kind image. One that Steve’s made just for him. “I thought, there is no need to keep them separate. They are both a part of you. Will you… wear it proudly?”

“Proudly.” Bucky feels the word gather in his chest. He’s helpless to stop the power of it as it fills him with more joy than he could ever hope to contain. “And with honor. Kiss me, husband.”

Steve is smiling when he leans in to do so. The second their lips touch, the joy simmering within Bucky bursts to a new extreme. He can’t hold back. Bucky throws his arms around Steve’s neck and pulls him in. Needs him as close as their bodies will allow.

“The paint…” Steve mutters as he kisses back. Kisses down Bucky’s neck and across his throat and along his collar. “It will…” He sighs happily when Bucky’s hands trail up his sides, “smudge…”

“You’ll fix it. Please, Steve…”

Bucky’s body pulses as Steve yields and gives into his desires. Bucky barely even knows the moment when he’s settled onto his back. Over on the mattress in the corner of the room with Steve’s weight pressed over him. Mouth opening, Bucky takes hold of Steve’s neck and tugs him in. Heat shudders through his insides, setting them ablaze. He needs this. Now. Maybe more than he’s ever needed it before, and Steve enters him again with one long, slow push. Their bodies tangle, becoming one in a continuous moment of physical love that leaves Bucky unable to tell where he ends and Steve begins. They catch eyes, and when Steve looks down at him, he whispers Bucky’s name like he means everything and all things, and Bucky becomes lost to it as the world disappears to only this one sensation. Bright and overwhelming. The first few blissful steps of letting his entire being sink into oblivion. 

***

Four days. 

That’s all it takes for someone with such a high standing in Society to arrange a last minute trip for him and his husband. Just four days. 

Their luggage is packed -- two trunks and several suitcases full of clothes and necessities and some of their own belongings they just want -- and piled up in the entryway. It all waits there patiently. Excited for the moment when Stiles will load it all into the motorcar to be taken to the harbor where Steve and Bucky will board the ship that will take them across the sea for six glorious weeks of only them. Of sunset walks and warm sandy beaches. Historical landmarks that Bucky’s only seen and read about in books. 

They’re picking at the light breakfast Truvie’s prepared for them before they get on their way. Bucky is sitting with Steve at the morning room table. A piece of furniture that shares with them an intimate secret. It smiles happily as Bucky drums fingers over it. He looks over the chessboard. 

“Are you going to make a move before we have to leave?” Steve asks as he brings his cup of coffee to his mouth. “If you can, that is.”

Bucky scoffs. 

“I’m _thinking_ ,” he mutters, because he has yet to best Steve in a game of chess and he’s going to take his time to see it happen. Steve sighs and folds his arms in. Bucky chuckles. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Uh-ha.”

Glancing up at his husband, Bucky snickers. His gaze lingers for a few heartbeats too long, and he forces himself to look back at their game. That’s something Bucky’s been needing to do ever since the other day. Force himself to look away from Steve. He finds himself often staring at his husband, and the few times he’s been caught is always met with a slight chuckle and the obvious question, _Why are you staring at me?_

The truth is, making love to Steve after his arm was painted -- and Steve did, in fact, need to touch it up, but it looks brilliant and wonderful and Bucky still feels like he’s glowing whenever his eyes pass over it -- Bucky feels something he’s never felt before. He has no word to use for it. No name to give it. But he gave something more to Steve that day. Bucky had no idea there was more left of him to give, but there was. And he’s given it. Wholly and complete. A surrender of some sort. 

He can sense the change in Steve as well. His husband must feel it, too, even if they’ve had no need to discuss it. It’s simply… _there_. In every smile. In every touch. In every kiss. 

When Bucky finally decides on his next move, and he places a pawn down on a new square, Steve chuckles and makes a move within seconds. Bucky sighs. 

“You truly enjoy this, don’t you?” he mumbles. “Beating me all the time.”

“I derive a fair bit of amusement out of it,” Steve says lightly. “You once said no one beat you.”

“Until you.” Bucky makes another move. “Very rarely.”

“Well then just think of all your losses as a learning experience. You’ll beat me one day.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re too much, husband.”

The outside bell chimes just as Steve moves his bishop and captures another of Bucky’s pieces. Excitement rushes through him and it must show since when Steve looks up at him, he smiles and chuckles. 

“That’ll be Stiles will the motorcar,” Truvie says. “You’re sure you’ve packed everything you need, m’Lord?”

“Yes,” Steve answers. “We’ve gone over everything several times.”

“Well there’s not much that can be done once you leave, if you haven’t,” she replies as she heads to answer the door. “Once you set sail, it’s out of my hands.”

Sharing a chuckle with his husband, Bucky glances around. When they return from their trip, things are going to be different. Steve will have had to’ve made a decision. Work under Lord Pierce and petition for his seat on Parliament early. But first, they’re going away. Together. Bucky leans over their game and plants a happy kiss. 

“Now you’re just trying to butter me up,” Steve says. Face blushing with Bucky’s sudden affection. “We can have Truvie leave the game as it is, if you wish. Or you can just yield.”

Bucky snorts and shakes his head. “I’m sure we’ll find a board to play upon during our travels.”

Steve just gets out a laugh when Truvie reappears. 

“M’Lords…” 

Her voice is trouble enough that it catches Steve’s attention right away. And he has yet to see the worried expression on her face. Bucky’s stomach bubbles uncomfortably. He’s never seen Truvie put off before. Not like this. Not even when she came to tell him that Sarah was passing. 

“Truvie?” Steve questions. “What is it?”

“It’s… Lords Pierce and Rumlow are here, sir.”

As though her answer to Steve is an announcement for them, the two in question stroll by her and waltz right into the morning room to join Steve and Bucky like it’s commonplace for them to do so.

“Good morning to you, Lord Rogers,” Alexander says. “Please pardon our interruption. I see you’re still eating breakfast.” His eyes land upon Bucky. “With your spouse. How quaint.”

Not liking the intrusion of his home, Steve rises stiffy and gives just one curt nod in greeting. 

“Lord Pierce. Lord Rumlow. I’m afraid this cannot be a long visit,” Steve tells them. “My husband and I will be heading on a trip shortly. Isn’t that right, Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers automatically. His headship asking a question in the presence of these two who have shown up so unexpectedly calls for the use of proper etiquette. Bucky straightens up. Puts his hands down in his lap and lowers his eyes. “Yes, Steve.”

Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Bucky can taste it in the air. See it in the overly pleasant way Lord Pierce smiles. See it in the way Brock winks at him, all but ignoring Steve. 

“Oh, but you might have to postpone your trip, Lord Rogers.” Alexander snaps his fingers and in walks several officers of the police brigade. “We’re here on a legal matter.”

“What is this?!” Steve exclaims. Eyes flying from Alexander to Brock to the men behind them. Even to Truvie, who can only stand there, hand over her mouth and wide-eyed as her kitchen is filled with the police. “What’s this all about?”

Alexander is pulling something out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He holds it up and sneers. 

“This.” He waves a document with the Courts’ seal stamped onto it slowly back and forth. “A warrant, signed only an hour or so ago, to search your home for any illegal activities. It’s a good thing we caught you before you left.”

His hand flicks up, and the officers start to move about. Bucky’s head swirls with confusion as more officers come in from the hall and begin to swarm their home. One even puts a hand on Truvie to shove her aside until Steve shouts for them to stop. They do, all eyes landing on Lord Pierce for further instruction. 

“You have no right!” Steve yells. Face red and eyes hardened with fury. “You have no just cause to get a search warrant!”

“Oh… but I _do_.” Alexander pulls something else out of that same pocket. An envelope. Already opened on some previous occasion. He takes out whatever notice it holds and starts to read what’s on it in a voice dripping with disdain and laced with the most horrible mocking. “Dearest Sarah,” he begins. “I’m afraid writing this letter finds me in a most difficult position. It has come to my attention that your son, my husband, may be involved in illegal activities--”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky whimpers as he listens in abject horror to Alexander Pierce read the rest of the words he scribbled on paper months ago. A letter Bucky had meant for Sarah with the best intentions. An attempt to keep Steve from getting himself in trouble. Now those words, written with those best intentions, seem to have paved the road to Hell. “I didn’t send it. Steve…” His husband is staring at him. Pale and scared. “Steve, I didn’t send it!” Bucky’s voice breaks off as tears build in his eyes. “I swear! I didn’t… I… I threw it away! I _know_ I did! I didn’t send it!”

“I did,” Steve whispers. All the fight he had moments ago now drained in the face of hearing Bucky’s letter. “I must have. The day I cleaned the office. It must’ve… fallen. And I…”

Alexander steps forward. 

“Now that that’s all settled.” He hands the warrant over to Steve, who takes it like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. Alexander turns to the officers and Brock. “Let’s get on with it. You. Housemaid,” he calls to Truvie. “Go home. We’ll come by to question you.”

One of the officers escorts her out -- though she’s quick to pull her arm away from his grip and go on her own -- and they all start to move about again. Alexander and Brock follow them to search the house. To find the crime that Steve is guilty of. The hidden room right below their feet. 

“Steve…” Bucky can barely get his voice past the pinch in his throat. “Steve, what--”

“Okay. Okay, this is what’s going to happen,” Steve interrupts. The warrant falls from his grip when he takes Bucky by the shoulders. He looks straight into Bucky’s eyes like he’s never said anything more important than what he’s going to say now. “They’re going to find the room downstairs. I can’t hide it. They’ll come arrest me. There’s going to be a trial. Drawn out, probably, knowing Lord Pierce.” He sucks in a deep breath and tries to steady himself, but Bucky can see the genuine and, very real, fear behind his eyes. “He enjoys the humiliation of others. I’ll be stripped of my title and privileges. Sentenced to… five years. Lord Pierce will seek the maximum. Oh…” 

Steve pales even more and he lowers himself back into his seat like he might fall over if he doesn’t. He trembles a bit. Drops his head in his hands. 

“The first… year… will be in an… in an institute. If I… I listen… maybe only six months.” Steve wipes at his face and looks back up at Bucky. 

All Bucky can do is stand there and listen. This is wrong. This is all wrong. This can’t… this can’t be happening. None of it makes any sense. Just a few minutes ago they were playing a game of chess. Ready to take a ship across the sea to enjoy six weeks being lost in each other. And now the world’s imploded around them. Bucky’s stomach turns. He’s going to be ill right there. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. Holding on to one last hopeful thought. He puts his hands at the sides of Steve’s face. “Let’s leave. Now. We’ll just go.” He tries to smile but his lips won’t listen to him. “We can run away. We can just…”

“There’s no place for us to go. There’re guards at the door.”

“Steve, _please_.” He can’t see Steve hauled off. His name and reputation dragged through the mud. “Let’s just _leave_. I don’t care where we go. We can sleep on the streets for all I care.”

“No. I will not see you on the streets.” Steve shakes his head. Pets a hand over Bucky’s head. “Parliament will seize all my assets. Freeze my access to money. The House will take care of you though. They won’t cast me out so they’ll take care of you. They’ll keep you safe while I’m gone.” Even now, on the brink of being arrested because of something Bucky’s done, Steve is still trying to take care of him. “That’s if you…” Steve sighs. “There’s an old law. You can keep the status and the stipends.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you, Steve. I’m not.”

“I love you,” Steve murmurs just as Alexander and Brock return. 

Behind them, officers are carrying out paints and brushes and canvases. Even the incomplete paintings that shared time with Bucky the other day.

“Lord Steven Grant Rogers,” Alexander announces. “It is with no sense of self satisfaction, that I place you under arrest for the excessive practice and intended distribution of the creative arts which, by law, is illegal in the Parliamentary position you hold.”

Tears fill Steve’s eyes. He squeezes them shut and they seem to push them out. They trail down his cheeks even when he opens his eyes again and tries to give Bucky a reassuring smile. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. Powerless to hold them in, those tears in his own eyes finally fall. He flings his arms around his husband. They’re going to take him away. And there’s nothing Bucky can do. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He squeezes tighter as Steve’s arms pull him in closer. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, Bucky.” Steve kisses the side of his head before pulling away. Fast and determined. He stands and faces his future. “I’m… I’m going with you willingly.” He forces the next few words out. “Lord Rumlow, are the cuffs necessary?”

Brock has them out and ready. There’s a cruel smirk curled up on his lips, and Bucky knows the answer to that. 

“Oh, I think so,” he says. “You’re a flight risk. An artist’s mind and all. We wouldn’t want you running away.”

He grabs Steve by the arm and pushes him to his knees for no reason other than that he can. Steve’s already handed himself over, and yet Brock is shoving him down to the floor.

“Brock!” Bucky exclaims as Steve’s arms are roughly pulled behind his back. Steve clearly holds in a grunt, the pain obvious on his face. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”

“Just doing my job, baby doll.” He winks at him. “You understand.”

Bucky tries to jerk forward to help Steve. His husband is being hurt and he needs to do something. Only he can’t. Three officers place themselves between him and Steve. Who does nothing to struggle as Brock hauls him back to his feet. Once he’s standing his tear-filled eyes glance at Bucky. 

“I love you, Bucky,” he whispers just as Brock snags him by the back of the neck and shoves him out.

The officers pile out behind them. Just before he follows, Alexander touches the new image on Bucky’s shoulder. Two House crests becoming one. Gives it a slight push, though Bucky feels as though that alone might actually knock him over. 

“Cute,” he says with a false smile. 

“Why?” Bucky asks. “Why would you do this? Just… _why_?”

“I will bring order to Society by sacrificing a few,” he says. “If you had the courage to see that, you’d understand it.” Alexander looks down at the chessboard. A game now long forgotten still in play. He moves one of Bucky’s knights and glances back up at him. “Checkmate.”

That’s all he says before he leaves behind the rest of them. Bucky doesn’t realize he’s followed until the cold air hits his face. Stings at his skin as he stands in the open doorway. There are neighbors mingling outside. Heads together and pointing and whispering.

All watching Bucky’s nightmare unfold, as Steve Rogers is taken away in iron shackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! I'm the worst. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, I really am. I'll be doing my _absolute_ best not to take _nearly_ as long to update again. 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well and thank you so much for your continued patience and sticking with me! 
> 
> But okay... have some images!
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> Steve has been a sad puppy in the last few chapters so lets have Steve waking from//talking about his nightmare
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> And turning around to see the unexpected company coming in to screw everything up 
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> And telling Bucky what's going to happen
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> Now for Bucky
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> Having Steve telling him he likes his song
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> The morning of the disaster and playing chess at the breakfast table
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> And just the shock and horror when everything goes down
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> Okay but... I think that's it for now!! Despite the cliffhanger, I do hope you enjoyed!! And hopefully I'll see you a lot sooner!! <3


	32. 100 Years Past and my brother and I discovered the New Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warnings** this chapter deals with steve's involuntary hospitalization and treatments therein, based largely upon the practices done during the late 1800s.

"We're only trying to help you, Steven."

Steve turns towards the wall, away from Dr. Faustus. 

"I know," he whispers. No, they're not. Or maybe they are. Steve's not sure anymore. He's confused. Whatever they keep giving to him makes him dizzy. The words just slip out. "I wanna go home."

"Do you know why you're here, Steven?"

Closing his eyes, Steve suppresses a sigh. 

"Because..." Because the world doesn't understand. Because his art is seen as the work of a deranged mind. Because the world enjoys the work but doesn't value the sources it comes from. "Because I broke the law. I was a disgrace to my position."

"It's more than that," Dr. Faustus says. The pen he writes with makes horrible, scratchy noises as it moves across the notebook on the doctor's lap. Judging Steve as Dr. Faustus and Society does. "If those are the images that reside within your mind, then the troubles within _you_ are very disturbing indeed."

"That's not..." Tears burn behind Steve's eyes as he clamps his mouth shut. _If I listen, six months_ , he told Bucky. If Steve plays by their rules, does what they say, listens to them, he can cut his time here in the Institute down by half. Move onto prison time and then get home. Home to his husband. Steve changes his response. "Okay."

The mattress is thin and lumpy underneath him but the straps, at least, have been removed. The air is thick and stale, saturated, always, by frightened tears and anguished cries. All those noises are louder because everything is made out of stone. Walls, floors, ceilings. A world encased in stone. There's a small window on the far wall. Thin. Like the claw mark of some beast that once tried to escape and was only able to catch a small glimpse of the outside world. It lets in a sliver of sunlight. 

Steve watches as it dances upon the palm of his hand. He wants to hold it. To feel its warmth held within the grip of his fingers and cannot. It passes through them when he closes his hand. Of course it does. He has nothing warm to hold here. 

It's been three, no, four... or maybe... five... days... since he's been brought here. _The best Institute_ _in the country,_ they claimed when he was brought through those huge, intimidating doors. _We'll have you fixed up in no time_.

Time is hard to keep track of in this place. Steve hasn't left the room since they bolted the door. They bring him his food in there -- two meals a day, usually rice porridge in the morning and beef stew in the evening -- and he washes in there -- Steve is at least given the dignity of being allowed to wash himself, with only cold water because he's told that cold water is a good way to cool an overheated brain which may be a _cause of his_ _condition_. They administer his medications in there. One of which he knows is his own, which his House and Bruce must have raised all sorts of hell to be sure he had access to, but all that matters is that Steve has it. The others, well, Steve's not sure exactly what they are, but when he tried to argue against taking them he was strapped to the bed and forced. 

But he promised Bucky. He can't do anything about prison once he's sentenced -- whenever this trial happens -- but if he can get this time reduced, he'll do whatever that takes. 

When the bolt on the door is suddenly wrenched open, Steve blinks a few times and realizes he's now alone in the room. He must have slept, even though the sluggish way his body moves and the weight he carries in his head would suggest otherwise. He rolls over again, not sure of the time of day. Sees a nurse bringing in a tray of food. 

"Good mornin’, Lord Rogers," she greets. Morning, then. "I trust you slept well."

"Yes," Steve lies. Or maybe doesn't. He doesn't feel well rested, but he must've slept through the night without waking. "Thank you."

"That's good. I heard the doctor say that by the end of the week you might be allowed some time outside. Isn't that nice?"

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. "Mhm."

She waits for him to sit up and then places the tray on the bed next to him. There are two copper syringes on the tray as well as Steve's breakfast. Steve cringes at them.

"Is that... do we have to?"

He doesn't know why he bothers asking. Steve already knows the answer, but the words, they just come out. So many thoughts are turning into words these days. 

"You know we do," she tells him as she places the cloth napkin over his lap as though he's a child. "You take your medicines, you eat your breakfast, and then you talk to the doctor for your morning chat." 

And then another nurse will come in and read from a nonfiction book for at least an hour. Then Steve will get more medication and he'll sleep. Then more talking with the doctor. Then supper. Then washing for the evening. Then more medicines. Then bed. 

Routines. That's what they keep stressing. That a known and familiar routine to follow will help relax his mind. The initial conclusion that the uncertainties of his sickly childhood is what caused this in the first place. That if his parents done the _right_ thing when he was young and brought him here then, this could have all been avoided. Steve has bit his tongue while enduring all the ridicule of his upbringing.

All set up, the nurse waves her fingers and Steve reluctantly holds his arm out for her. The first needle pumps his own medications into his body. He's familiar with it. Knows the first slight tingle and then the nothing that follows. The nothing that has kept him healthy for years until Lord Pierce had it tampered with. The second needle makes Steve tense up before the nurse even brings it to his arm. 

"Just a little prick," she says by means of comfort. "It's only to--"

"Help me," Steve mumbles. "I know."

She smiles. "That's right."

Some people are here to help, Steve supposes. People like Bruce and Betty who have worked in and out of the Institutes. Or like the nurse who comes in and reads to him everyday. She has a kind face and smile, and a warm voice that makes Steve feel like maybe everything will be okay if he can just hold onto it. 

Steve had been at the window the first time he met her. Just standing there, looking down at the grounds the Institute sits upon. Gardens. He hadn't expected to see the vast, green and, admittedly, beautiful scenery that lay just beyond the cold, miserable concrete walls that trapped him there. 

"Lord Rogers," the nurse said when she came into the room. It was the first morning, of that, Steve's sure. "What're you doing out of bed?" She placed her hands gently upon his shoulders and guided him away. "You know you're supposed to be resting."

"I just..." Steve let himself be led back to the bed, still not used to the sluggish way the drugs made him feel. "I just wanted to..." He glanced back at his only view to the outside world. "To look out the window."

The nurse smiled at him and combed her fingers through his hair before fixing the blankets around his shoulders. She even fluffed the pillow for him.

"Too much excitement for you, I'm afraid," she told him. "Doctor's orders are for you to stay in bed. Okay, dear? But I tell you what." She helped him rest back against the pillow. "You just be patient and listen and I bet you'll be allowed outside in no time."

"My mother liked gardens," he whispered. He wasn't sure why. It’s was nice to think about her, even in a place like this. _Especially_ in a place like this. 

She smiled as she sat upon her wooden stool and readied the book she'd brought with her. "I know. It was Lady Rogers' suggestion that recreational activities such as gardening and cooking and even dancing be incorporated into patient's treatments. They're still considering her ideas." She leaned forward and murmured, "I am very much in favor of your mother's suggestions, Lord Rogers. She was a lovely woman."

That was all she said on the matter and then went straight to reading, but it gave Steve the strength he needed to get through that first day. 

Steve doesn't know that nurse’s name. In fact, he doesn't know anyone's names except for Dr. Faustus, but she's one who, Steve thinks, hopes to see those people who might really need some help receive it the way they deserve. Patients who get the proper care, the proper doctors -- who genuinely care for their well being and health -- and the proper treatment come out of here healthier. But Steve isn't sick. At least, he doesn't think so. 

"W-wait..." Steve tucks his arm back in before the nurse with him now can bring the needle close to him. "Maybe... a little less. I don't... I don't like the way it makes me feel."

It might be the wrong thing to say. Telling them. Freely giving out the information that can be easily used against him, but if he's going to get any leniency -- any freedom at all from the dreadful haze -- it's the only thing he can do. It doesn't quite work, but it does do something. The nurse, she hesitates and takes a quick glimpse at the syringe, and for one, fleeting, hopeful moment, Steve wonders if he'll be spared even just one dose. Missing one might be enough to clear his head at least enough to place together how long he's been here. But his hope is short lived, and the nurse shakes her head. 

"Sorry, Lord Rogers," she says. Holds her hand out and waits for Steve to present his arm again. "I can speak to Dr. Faustus, but--"

"N-no," Steve stutters. No. No, he doesn't want Dr. Faustus knowing just how dazed and confused the medicines are making him, if he hasn't already figured it out that is. Steve is aware enough, at least for now, that he doesn't want his state of mind leaving this room. "That's... it's okay." Holding back a tremble, he gives his arm back over. "Th-thank you."

She shrugs as though not bothered one way or another and brings the needle to his arm. Steve can't help the wince as it pierces his skin. He can't pretend it doesn't hurt. The needles they use here aren't like the ones the House of Banner send. They're longer, not as fine, and as the medicine is pumped into his body, burning hot and painful the whole way through, Steve closes his eyes, fighting back tears. And pretends he's at home with Bucky. Far, far away from here. 

____________________________

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

Days.

They crawl by on their bellies, dragging Steve by their claws through slow and unending days. A ceaseless existence of regimented activity within the four walls that steadily creep closer towards him -- the monotony of routine and stressed patterns quickly giving way to the fear of Steve's own mind. Steve wasn't ill when he was brought here, but he fears, if nothing changes, if he's unable to overcome the absolute inertia his life has become, that he might actually become sick. This place that's meant to rid him of his so called-illness, driving him to it instead. 

There's a chill that wafts through the room everyday, making Steve's teeth chatter. The clothes he was changed into since first arriving are thin and ragged and even a size too small. Steve's wrists and ankles stick out of the frayed sleeves and there're two buttons missing from his shirt. He's asked for another blanket or a robe -- he thinks he has anyway -- a few times, but, so far, he hasn't gotten anything. 

Another shiver runs through Steve though he can no longer tell if the chill comes from the air in the room or from the medicines they keep giving him. All he can do is wrap the one, thin blanket he has all around him. He curls up with it on the mattress and pulls it over his head. Sinks down beneath his own cocoon as much as he can and dreams of faraway places. 

A beach with white sand. That's where he's meant to be. With Bucky. Laying out in the sun with warm water rolling towards them. If only Steve had been able to plan their trip quicker. This fate would have been waiting for Steve when they returned, yes, but at least they would have gotten their time together. Time alone. Away from the judgmental eyes and fingers of Society that wish to pick apart every little thing they do or don't do. 

They were meant to celebrate Bucky's birthday while there. Under the covers, Steve smothers down a sob. There's a present packed away in the luggage that never got the take the trip either. Wrapped in cloth and tied with a satin bow, a gift Steve had specially made for his husband. It must've been unpacked now. Maybe Bucky's already seen it. For all Steve knows, Bucky's birthday's come and gone. Meant to be celebrated together and instead, Bucky's alone and Steve's trapped himself under a thin blanket to chase away these infernal chills brought on by the air or medicines he doesn't want to take. Because he's locked in here. Kept away from all that he loves.

They even took his wedding ring from him. There had been a mark around his finger where his ring sat for the past six months. It's faded away now. Steve tries not to look at it. At another reminder of what's been taken from him. 

Steve closes his eyes when the lock slides open. He clenches the blanket tighter around himself as though maybe that will make this not happen at all. He can just disappear. Vanish under a magical item that'll make him smaller and smaller until whoever's just come into the room gives up looking for him and leaves him alone. 

"Hello, Steven."

Of course. Dr. Faustus. Steve should have expected him to arrive around now. Then again, it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep track of time. The longer Steve's here, the harder it is. He can't really remember if it's closer to breakfast or dinner or... did he eat today? His stomach never really feels full anyway. The sweet nurse was in already to read to him earlier. A book on traditional manners. Or was that yesterday? Steve sighs. 

"Steven?" Dr. Faustus repeats when Steve neither responds nor comes out from under the blankets. "It's time for our meeting. Will you come out from under there?"

Opening his eyes, Steve holds in another sigh. He wants to tell the doctor to just go away. Dr. Faustus isn't interested in listening to anything he has to say. Anything Steve says to him will be twisted around anyway. He won't listen to reason. Won't care what Steve has to say that justifies his so-called crimes. He'll put words in Steve's mouth and sometimes those words make Steve question what exactly he said in the first place. Still, Steve slowly pulls the blanket away. Lets it slip over his head so that he can see over the top of it. He leaves it skimming the brim of his nose without care of how childish it probably makes him look. 

"Are you feeling ill this afternoon?" Dr. Faustus asks. 

"No." Steve needs to clear his throat, which probably doesn't work in his favor for the question at hand, but he doesn't do too much conversing in this place. In fact, he hasn't had a real conversation since his last breakfast with Bucky. "I'm fine. Just like I keep telling you."

"You are most decidedly not fine," Dr. Faustus says as he takes a seat at the other end of the room. A seat always brought in for him when he comes. "If you were fine, you wouldn't be here."

"No, but--"

"I'm going to have to ask that you sit up when you speak to me, Lord Rogers," he interrupts. "If you want me to treat you like a gentleman, you should behave like a gentleman. Then again..." Dr. Faustus chuckles like he's sharing a joke with someone even though Steve's the only one in the room and he hardly finds anything humorous. "I can't imagine once your trial is over you'll be retaining your title. Would you prefer it if I had the staff start calling you be something a little less formal?"

"If you please," Steve replies gruffly, sitting up as requested and ignoring the rush to his head, "I've had no trial yet. Until then, I remain a gentleman of Society and you will treat me as such."

Steve doesn't know where the sudden demand for respect comes from, but it's shown up quick and hard and like never before. He's just so tired and he's hungry and he doesn't want to admit that he's scared, but he is. He just wants to go home. 

Over in his seat, a tiny smirk twitches the corners of Dr. Faustus's mouth. "Feeling hostile today, are we, Lord Rogers?"

Stomach clenching, Steve drops his gaze to his lap. Last time he was accused of being hostile he ended up strapped to the bed, and that was just in an attempt to find out what medicines they were trying to give him. Picking at the ends of his less-magical blanket, he shakes his head.

"No," he mutters. He can do this. Steve can choke back his fear and anger and get through this. He clenches his teeth and forces out an insincere apology. "I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about today, Doctor?"

At his feet, Dr. Faustus has a leather doctor's bag. Steve's been trying to ignore it, worried that maybe he's brought it with him today to administer some new drug that'll make him feel even more off balanced. Dr. Faustus does reach down for his bag, but he doesn't take out anything to give to Steve. Instead, he holds up a small notebook. 

"I'd like to talk about this."

Steve fights back a quiver of his lip. "Where did you get that?"

From the nightstand by the bed Steve shares with his husband, that's where. The doctor is holding the notebook that Bucky gave to Steve as a present for Christmastide. Way before Bucky even knew that Steve was Captain. His husband had no idea what he was doing with the notebooks he had scattered about, and respected Steve's privacy enough never to check without permission. After he found out that Steve used the notebooks for sketching, Bucky liked to look through them. Ever since getting that one, Steve's been using it the most. Now, Dr. Faustus holds it up as though it contains poison. 

"Confiscated," he says. "Along with several other pieces of illegal contraband found within your home."

"That's not..." Steve rubs the spot between in eyes. The headache's come on fast and strong. "Those aren't illegal."

"Under normal circumstance..." Dr. Faustus flips through some of the pages, and Steve has to resist the urge the reach out and snatch his book away from him, "no, these wouldn't be. However, given _your_ situation, these are a small symptom of a much larger problem. And I'd like to discuss them. This, for instance." He opens the book and shows Steve one of his own sketches. "This has me _very_ concerned."

When Steve sees which sketch he's talking about, he needs to look away. The nightmare. Of course. The darkness looming around and creeping upon Bucky while he watched helplessly. He'd been having it so often he thought drawing it out would have a hand in making it stop. It hadn't. Not that it matters. Steve's in a waking nightmare now anyway. 

"It's not what you think," he mutters.

"Oh, do enlighten me, Steven," Dr. Faustus replies casually. "What do you think I believe it to mean?"

Sighing, Steve rubs his hands over his face and pulls the blanket back up to his chin. He wants to lay back down. Maybe if he does, the doctor with just go away. But then, in this moment of clarity, Steve knows, there might be consequences to that. 

"Probably..." he grunts. "That it's my... _illness._ That it... puts _troubling_ images like..." Without looking, Steve gestures towards his notebook. "...like that in my head."

"So then, you _admit_ that your so-called "art" is your expression of those troubling images?"

Steve blinks. "N-no, that's... that's not what I--"

"Because, you do realize, Steven, that you adopted a completely different persona just to cope with the inner workings of your mind."

" _No_ ," Steve growls. "That's _not_ why I created Captain. I only made him up because I knew--"

"That is was wrong. And you felt guilty."

"Yes." Steve quickly shakes his head. "Wait. I mean, no. I..." He presses the tips of his fingers into his temples in an attempt to organize his scattering thoughts. "I never thought it was wrong--"

"But you _knew_ it was illegal, isn't that right?" Dr. Faustus interrupts again. "That, a person of your status and station creating such art for the intention of distribution is against the laws you've been sworn to uphold as a gentleman of Society?"

That's... a lot of words. It wouldn't normally be a lot of words, but right now it's just so much for Steve to process. For them all to make it through the thick wall of smoke that blocks him from everything. He tries to sort through everything Dr. Faustus has just said. Doesn't want to let him twist around his answer to make it mean something different. 

"Illegal," Steve repeats. Takes a deep breath and says, "Yes. I... knew that it was illegal."

"And you did it anyway." Steve's stomach clenches but he says nothing in response to that. "So you had to hide it. You kept it hidden from your family. From your father -- the Head of your Household. From your mother. And even from your own husband after you became the head of your _own_ household."

The glands in Steve's throat feel too tight. Everything Dr. Faustus has just said is painfully accurate. For years, Steve had been hiding this from everyone -- even from himself. Secret drawings and forbidden paintings he just couldn't keep from creating. The inspiration was just always there. From the most cliche sunrise to an overheard conversation. When he was younger, Steve would sometimes destroy his work, afraid of what would happen if someone ever found it. It wasn't until he was on his own that he truly found the courage to delve deep within the vaults of his mind and create the way he always wanted to, experimenting with shades and colors and textures, and finally giving in to the art that had been trying so hard to get out for so many years. 

Then came the guilt. When even his parents visited Captain's first exhibit with dazzled, wide-eyed interest while others condemned the artist's strange and broken mind; even suspecting the work to belong to one of their own. A member of Society -- High Society, at that -- hiding in shadows and secrecy lest their shame be known and brought to their own House. After marrying Bucky, the guilt was overwhelming. Bucky allowing Steve to embrace his art was a gift he never even dared to dream for. A gift that Steve selfishly accepted. 

And now Steve's ruined everything. 

"I don't..." Steve can barely hear his own voice. "I don't wanna talk about this."

"The sooner we work out the root of your illness, Steven, the sooner we can work on your healing." When Steve doesn't answer, instead choosing to lean his head against the cold, stone wall and just stare at the thick, wooden door he hasn't crossed since entering the room, Dr. Faustus sighs. "Very well. Then, how about we discuss these?"

The sounds of ripping paper has Steve's stomach falling. He glances over to see the doctor tear a page from his notebook, flip through to another and then tear that one out too. Dr. Faustus does it two more times before showing Steve which sketches he's pulled out. 

Anger gathers in Steve's chest as he sees the various sketches of his mother that Dr. Faustus has chosen to rip out of his notebook. Pictures he deems worthy of _discussion_.

"What about them?" Steve grumbles.

Dr. Faustus first takes another glimpse at them and then looks back at Steve again, eyebrows lifted as though Steve's inability to understand what's troubling about this is both fascinating and disturbing. 

"You're a grown man, Steven," he says, and then waves the pages. "Don't you find it a little... _peculiar_ that you've felt the need to draw your mother so often?"

"She was... she was _dying."_ Steve can't believe this is something he actually needs to explain. "And now she's _dead._ "

"I understand that," he replies. "Both my parents have died so you have my sympathies." Dr. Faustus pauses as though he expects Steve to thank him for that. Steve doesn't. "However, I never felt the need obsess over their images."

"I'm not..." Steve eyes the drawings that the doctor now has on his lap. "They just make me feel better, is all."

"Interesting. _Very_ interesting." He nods and rubs his chin and skims his fingers along the corners of Steve's drawing. "There's a doctor overseas who has very fascinating theories about the relationship between a mother and her children; sons in particular. Tell me, Steven, would you consider you and your mother to have had a _close_ relationship." 

Steve wants to lie. He probably should. He's sure of it. Yet the answer is just so normal, so natural and heartfelt, that he finds himself just blurting out the truth. 

"Yes. We were."

"Hm." Dr. Faustus starts writing something in his own notebook now. "Can you recall a time in your childhood when your relationship with your mother was ever inappropriate in nature? Did she ever indulge in any _unnatural_ desires you may have had towards her?"

Steve can't move his arms more than an inch or so. Every time he tries, they go nowhere. Even when he tugs, they're just held where they are. Everything is dark, and it takes him a disoriented moment to figure out that his eyes are closed, and an even longer moment, filled with great, Herculean effort, to get them open. When he does finally pry his eyes open, they're crossed and Steve's vision is blurry as though he's looking through water. He attempts to rub at them only to remember, belatedly, that he can't move his arms. 

There's a dull throbbing in the back of his head that gets worse when he tries to lift it. Because he's laying down. He doesn't remember laying down, but he is. Gathering what little strength he has, Steve picks his head up as much as it will go. Sees the problem. He can't move his arms because he's strapped to the bed. Again. 

Unable to keep his head up any longer, Steve lets it fall back with a thud against the stiff and lumpy pillow. Just those movements alone are harsh enough to make it pound and spin, and Steve lets out a strained moan. 

"Are you awake now, Lord Rogers?"

A nurse. She speaks with a heavy brogue from the Erie. Steve doesn't recognize her. 

"Awake?" His voice is hoarse and gruff. Like he hasn't used it in days. "What... what happened?"

"You mean you don't remember _attackin'_ the good Dr. Faustus like an animal?"

"Attacking?" Steve repeats. "I..."

"That's right," she interrupts. The nurse comes closer and starts roughly pulling the blanket out from around him. "Took _two_ men to pull you off and _two_ doses of heroin to subdue you."

Attacking Dr. Faustus? Steve didn't... or maybe... He searches his mind for anything to fill in the blanks and gaps between then and now. The last thing he can remember clearly is Dr. Faustus suggesting that Steve's own mother might have acted inappropriately towards him, but somewhere in the swirl of thick and foggy memories, Steve can recall being on his feet. Yelling -- _screaming,_ even. And a struggle. 

Steve manages to lift his head again, this time enough to catch a glimpse of the knuckles on his right hand. Sure enough, there's some slight bruising across them. 

Dropping his head back down again, a laugh bursts through him. Steve is hardly able to contain it, and even if he could he doubts he would. The nurse glares at him as though he's done something worthy of outrage. Steve can't bring himself to care. He goes right on laughing as the nurse continues doing whatever it is she's been doing. Strapped to a bed in the middle of an inescapable nightmare, Steve just goes on laughing. Maybe they're right. Perhaps he really is mad. 

It's just, the idea of fighting back when all the odds here are stacked against him -- when the whole world is telling him he's wrong -- it feels good. It feels right even. Like it's what he should be doing even if he promised Bucky he wouldn't. The thought that he's done something that would make his mother proud -- and somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve is sure that Bucky would be proud as well -- it keeps this smile on his face. A smile on his face and a laugh that rumbles through his chest and the thought that if he just holds on, this place won't change him. 

Steve is still chuckling, he just can't help himself, when the nurse starts pulling up the side of his shirt. He isn't quite paying attention to what she's doing until he catches a glimpse of the needle she's bringing towards him. 

"Is that truly necessary?" Steve questions. The idea of being pumped full of more heroin, or something milder as Steve suspects he'd been getting before that, when he's physically restrained is just absurd. "I'm strapped to the bed. What harm can I possibly do?" She sticks him with the needle without answering, paying no attention to Steve's hiss or jerk against the restraints other than holding him still. "Must you be so rough?"

"If you want to be _treated_ like a gentleman, you must first _act_ like a gentleman," she scolds as she pulls the syringe out again. 

Act like a gentleman. Steve might laugh again if only he still had the energy. They expect him to retain the proper manners and respect of a gentleman when he's strapped to a bed. When he's being pumped full of drugs that blur the line between awake and asleep -- between reality and dreams. When the doctor claiming to want to _fix_ him accuses his beloved mother of such heinous acts. 

It's not until he feels the tugs at his arms that Steve realizes the drugs are making quick work of his mind and he's already started to slip away under their unrelenting grasp. But the nurse is doing more. She's unbuckling the straps.

"What... what're you..." Steve's mouth is numb, the words needing to be peeled from his tongue as though stuck there by glue. "What's... what's happening?"

"You have a visitor," she says brusquely. The nurse makes no attempt to be gentle as she finishes taking off the straps and then yanks on his shirt to pull him up. "I'm meant to get you ready."

He goes up willingly, if only too shocked to resist anyway. "A... a visitor?" 

"That's right." She grabs hold of his waist and yanks his legs around to the side of the bed. "Now don't give me any trouble."

"No, I... I wasn't..." The thought of someone here to see him sends a cautious shimmer of hope down his spine. "A visitor?" His voice cracks slightly. She doesn't answer this time as she goes over towards the door to retrieve something from the corner. "Is it... my husband?" Steve's heart pounds with the possibility of seeing Bucky. Even here, in this vile place. The idea of seeing Bucky, hearing his voice, talking to him -- it brings a painful rush of tears to his eyes. "Please, ma'am." He needs to know; Steve just _needs_ to know. "Is it my husband?"

 

Instead of saying anything about who's here to see him, the nurse just comes back over with what she went to get. Ice freezes his veins when he sees what it is. A straitjacket. She wants to put him in a straitjacket. Steve's face crinkles in disgust.

"If you'd rather me tell him you don't wish to see him then by all means, argue with me."

No. No, Steve can't bare the thought of her sending Bucky away. Of her telling him that Steve doesn't want to see him. He'll do anything to see his husband, even for just a moment. Even if that means allowing himself to be put in one of those. Steve closes his eyes and nods. Complies with the nurse and the harsh twists and pulls that it takes to put the straitjacket on. By the time she's finishing with the last buckle, Steve's arms are already starting to ache with the strain. 

He doesn't pay attention to the pain and discomfort and humiliation that washes through him. It'll all be worth it for a chance to be with Bucky. Maybe he'll even be allowed to kiss him. Steve doubts it or that Bucky will be very interested in kisses given the state Steve's in -- he hasn't had a proper shower since he got here nor has he even shaved -- but maybe a kind, gentle touch. That would... that would be delightful. Sheer heaven. Human contact. Loving and tender human contact. Steve might burst into tears with the thought. 

Lost in the foggy daydream of such notions, Steve barely even realizes that he's on his feet now and being escorted out of the room. He turns to look back to fulfill some foolish need he has to know what it looks like from the outside. Just a thick, wooden door with harsh, iron hinges and two slots with sliding panels -- one on top to view inside and one on the bottom to shove plates food into the room. Steve faces ahead again, the view turning his stomach to rot. 

There's something even more mocking about it while walking away. As though his room, that is in every way a prison cell, taunts him as he leaves. Laughs like it knows just as well as Steve does that he'll be back in there soon enough and once again the walls and floors and ceilings will have their fun tormenting him. 

They pass other doors. So many other doors that house the horrors of so many others who are also in here with Steve. Some of them are opened, but Steve is too dazed and they move much too briskly for him to see inside. He can only hope that there are those here getting the proper care they might really need. 

"Can we..." Steve's head is spinning. They're going so fast, so, so fast, he feels like he might fall over. "Slow…” He runs out of air and needs to start again. “Slow down? Please?"

"Nothin' but trouble, you are," the nurse huffs. "I have other patients to get to. If you can't make it, I might as well just take ya back to yer room."

All Steve can do is stare at her. It takes a good amount of his willpower and whatever clarity he has left not to point out that she's got him locked in a straitjacket and pumped full of Lord knows what and _he's_ trouble? 

But he doesn't want to go back to his room. Especially when Bucky's waiting for him. They're probably not even going all that fast anyway. It's just that his arms are trapped around his body and it hurts and his mind feels so fuzzy. So Steve shakes his head and takes another step forward.

"Just because you're of the House of Rogers I'm havin' to go through all this," she grumbles as they continue on their way. "Special treatment for such a _prestigious_ House. Meetin' all the way in the staff's quarters..."

Steve tunes her shrill voice out with thoughts of his sweet, loving husband making the long journey here to see him. It's not a place Steve would ever wish Bucky to visit, especially with Steve drugged and locked in this jacket, but, after all this time, Steve misses him so much. He needs to see him, and if Bucky's willing to see his headship like this, then Steve will not deny him that. 

The nurse leads Steve through several dark and damp stone corridors. Up, or down -- or maybe both -- thin, winding stairways until his feet touch upon a soft rug that runs across the hardwood floors that span the warm, open room they've reached. A parlor, perhaps. There's a large fireplace that takes up most of the far wall and a piano staged strategically by it. Steve is able to catch a glimpse of a seating area not unlike that of his own parlor before the nurse steers him towards the grand staircase. They ascend the steps, the nurse giving him one firm shove at the small of his back to make him move quicker. A room waits from them right at the top of the stairs. 

The room they're headed for is warmly lit. Lamps, it looks like. There must be electricity in there -- probably even in all of the staff's quarters -- unlike the rooms where Steve and the others are kept. The glow of a fire splashes across the walnut paneled walls and the sounds of soft music gently waft down the stairs. Something smells good. Delicious, in fact. Steve is already salivating as he gets closer. The thought of sharing a meal -- real food, more than just the porridge that barely keeps his stomach from longing for more -- with Bucky is tantalizing.

A smile tugs at the corners of Steve's mouth as they reach the top step. He would break into a sprint if he could. Whatever gets him into that room and to his Bucky quickest. It's an office, so far as Steve can tell. Bookcases line the walls and several tables are scattered about the room, holding files and papers and glass containers. There's a desk at the far end of the office and next to it is a serving trolley with that food Steve smelled. Roasted duck and potatoes and custard pie. Seated in the large armchair in front of the desk is Steve's guest. Steve’s smile disappears, his heart leaping up into his throat, when he steps into the open doorway.

"You said," Steve whispers, "my husband--"

"I said no such thing," the nurse replies with a cruel sense of indifference as she steers Steve over to the wooden chair placed next to Lord Pierce. To Lord Pierce, she says, politely, "Dr. Faustus will be with you momentarily, m'Lord."

She leaves then, and Steve, locked in a straitjacket, is left alone in the room with Alexander Pierce as the world crumbles around him. Just moment's ago, he'd been completely certain that Bucky was waiting in here for him. Now, Steve feels completely ridiculous for even entertaining the thought. He should have argued when he had the chance. Sure, he'd still be strapped to a bed, but maybe he could have avoided this. Delayed it for another time at least -- this horrible, gut-wrenching sensation that runs through him now. Zigzagged and twisted cracks splinter through his heart. Steve's not sure he's ever felt so much pain rush through it at once. Whatever hope he had for today shrivels like a flower lost from the sun. 

Next to him, Lord Pierce rises silently from his seat and strolls over to the trolley where all the food is. He casually pours himself a glass of red wine. The platter of duck is already carved, but Lord Pierce doesn't touch it yet. Without even acknowledging Steve, he simply comes back over with his drink and sits down with an irritating ease of confidence. Lord Pierce sits back, relaxed and comfortable as he waits for Dr. Faustus, while Steve remains stiff and rigid as though waiting for the snake to strike. 

"Ah, Lord Pierce," Dr. Faustus says just minutes later when he enters the room. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Of course, Dr. Faustus." Lord Pierce stands again to shake the doctor's hand. "I wouldn't miss this. We have important matters to discuss."

"Would you like some dinner, Alexander?" 

Dr. Faustus gestures to the tray of food and, since Lord Pierce agrees, he rings for someone to come in to make them plates. They go on to eat and exchange the normal pleasantries of everyday conversation -- the weather, asking after each other's health and family, rumors about other Houses -- all while acting as though Steve isn't even there. They can ignore him all they want, it doesn't change the fact that Steve's presence is evident all over Dr. Faustus's face.

Though he tries to hide it with a new style of his hair, there's a bruise at the corner of his left eye and a few trailing across his brow. His lip might be healing, but it's split in the middle. Nothing he does can hide the swelling of his nose. Steve is pleased to think he might've broken it before he was pulled away. They may have their petty torment here with their delicious food and acting as though Steve's presence is not even worth noting, but they can't take that from him. Not now. Not ever. 

"Well, as much as I enjoy our chats," Lord Pierce says after their plates are empty and cleared away. "I think it's best we get down to the real matter of my visit."

Steve's been drifting in and out, unable to stay focused for more than a few moments at a time, but that grabs his attention. The strain on his arms is becoming unbearable though he does what he can not to shift about and call unwanted attention to himself. He picks his chin up to see Dr. Faustus nodding and opening a file. 

"Yes, of course. After careful review and observation…” 

Steve loses the next few exchanges of words, nodding off in a fog of a drug-fueled daze despite his greatest efforts to pay attention. 

“...it's sad, really. I've seen it before."

"And after your thorough observation," Lord Pierce responds. "This is your professional opinion of the patient?"

"Oh yes." Dr. Faustus closes the file, presumably Steve's, and rests his hands over it. "It's my diagnosis that as a highly imaginative individual, it's very clear that the patient's... _awareness_ of what we call reality, sadly, is _radically_ underdeveloped." 

"And can he survive? Out in the world?"

Dr. Faustus sighs. "I had high hopes for this one, but after his outburst two days ago I'm no longer convinced he can remain stable without the right supervision. It's becoming clear that without a means of an outlet, in this case, the patient's so-called art, the disturbing images in his mind drive him to violence."

A scoff breaks through the air in the room, the noise a mix of disgust and amusement. It takes Lord Pierce and Dr. Faustus glancing over at him for the first time since this all started for Steve to realize that he's the one who made the sound. Just a simple reaction to the absurdity that Dr. Faustus has been saying. 

"Is there something you'd like to share with us, Steven?" Dr. Faustus asks. 

Steve, lifting his chin and looking him right in the eyes, says, "How's your face, Doctor?"

Pink blossoms across Dr. Faustus’s cheeks, and he drops his gaze, leaving Steve with at least one moment of great satisfaction. Until the doctor clears his throat and regains whatever dignity he can in the way he knows best. 

"A lesser man would give up on you," he remarks. "But I am bound by my oath as a doctor to cure you and make you whole." Dr. Faustus gestures to his face. "This is the work of an animal, not a man. And animals like you," Dr. Faustus narrows his eyes when Steve clenches his jaw, "need to be broken, in order to be made human again."

"There's a history of violence with this one," Lord Pierce comments. "Only a few months ago he attacked Lord Rumlow at a club opening."

The laugh that rumbles through Steve's chest is involuntary. Like the scoff earlier, he's helpless to hold it back. Of course, that would be brought up. Though it feels like years ago, that night at the club, when a scuffle broke out after Lord Rumlow was pestering a young woman there, has actually turned into one of Steve's favorite memories with his husband. Bucky, sinking and drowning in a sea of anguish and frustration, allowed Steve to reach into murky waters to offer him a hand. It was the first night they opened up to each other. The first night they held each other. The first night they shared a bed. Steve likes to think that maybe that was the night Bucky started to resurface -- to swim upward and onward -- and, perhaps, he had a little something to do with helping his husband breathe fresh air again. 

"Is something _amusing_ to you, Lord Rogers?" Lord Pierce asks. 

Steve barks another laugh in response to the question. Nothing is amusing and yet everything is funny. This place is, he fears, is slowly creeping into his mind and driving him to places he never thought he needed to hide from. 

"Not at all," Steve mumbles, his words beginning to slur. "Perhaps it's just..." He needs to a second to catch his breath. "A reaction of my _disturbed_ mind."

"So, you admit then," Dr. Faustus says, "that your mind needs--"

"No." Everything abruptly stops being amusing. "I do not." Steve sighs. He's aware enough to know that this is not a normal, run-of-the-mill meeting. If it was, Lord Pierce would not be here. "Why are you here?" Anger begins to replace whatever strange amusement he'd been feeling moments ago. "How much _lower_ can you _possibly_ bring me?" Steve's face is getting hot as he's suddenly overcome with the urge to push against the confining jacket. His arms hurt quite badly now that he's paying attention to them. "You dragged me out of my... of my _home... took_ me away from... away from my husband. I'm _here._ In this... this..." The room spins around him in a terrible, dizzying blur. "In this... _horrid place_. What more could you _want_ from me?" 

Alexander Pierce sneers a cruel smirk, his eyes burning with vulgar intrigue. It's a look Steve is familiar with. He's seen it delivered in a courtroom many times over the years when Lord Pierce is fully prepared with a rebuttal at whatever's been said. The snake poised and ready to strike. 

"This _horrid_ place, as you put it, is a _private_ Institute, one of the finest and most well funded in the country at that." His lips curl up even more. "Just one of the benefits of being part of such an old and established House. And because of you're of the House of Rogers, you've even been given private care. You have access to your preexisting medications and from what I understand you might even be allowed out on the grounds soon for outdoor exercise. You'll even be allowed personal visitors soon."

There's more. Steve, for all the fog that wafts through his mind, is well aware that, despite the definite pause, Lord Pierce is not finished. 

"Then why are you here?" Steve asks. "If not just to mock me."

"I assure you, Lord Rogers," he replies with an indignant lift of his chin, "I am not here to mock you. I am simply here to check on your progress. To learn if it is at all possible to see you out of here safely after you observation period." Observation period. That's a month, from what Steve understands about the procedures here. Lord Pierce laces his fingers and places his hands gently in his lap as he continues. "And in lieu of prison time, you'll be placed under house arrest and put under the custodial care of your House for the minimum term of three years. After that, well, you'll still be stripped of your title, but if your House is willing to care for your financial stability then you'll be free to live on your own. With Lord Barnes, I suppose, if your House decides to keep him and he chooses not to invoke a divorce on the grounds of misrepresentation." 

All those words are mismatched and jumbled up as they float through Steve's mind. He needs a moment to make sense of them. To put them together. Because what's being said just doesn't make any sense. Alexander Pierce is offering to get him out of here after a month. To keep him out of prison. 

"Are you..." Steve can't believe he's about to say this. He even glances over at Dr. Faustus, who gives him no help other than an uninterested flick of his eyebrows. "Are you offering me a deal?"

Lord Pierce nods once. "That's right."

A deal from this man alone is too good to be true. There's something Steve is missing. Some piece to the puzzle he hasn't seen yet. Unable to figure it out, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. 

"And..." Steve's throat is tight. Too tight. It's hard to speak. "And what do I have to do to get all of that?"

As though impressed that Steve understands there's a condition, even in the state they have him in, Lord Pierce smirks.

"Quite simple, really." He pulls a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "All you have to do is sign this."

"Unfortunately..." Steve jerks a bit against the straitjacket. "I'm a bit tied up at the moment." 

"Yes, well..." Lord Pierce might find some humor in the comment. He snickers and takes the fountain pen from off the desk in front of them. "I'm sure Dr. Faustus can have you out of there in no time."

"So I can sign that." A tiny, satisfied grin twitches at the corners of Lord Pierce's mouth. But Steve still knows enough to ask, "And what is it that I'll be signing?" 

"Your mother's bill is coming up for review again," he explains. The Tolerance and Acceptance Act. Steve smiles at the mere mention of the bill his parents -- his mother, especially -- created. "Sign this and agree to testify against it. And the deal is yours. You'll be out of here and sent back to the care of your House before you even know it." 

Steve's mind makes mush of the idea. It's ludicrous, and his mouth forms nonsensical words as he stares blankly at the man who's even suggested such a thing. His mother died before seeing her dream come true. To see the world become a better place. To change it with kindness though the tolerance and acceptance of her proposed act. No longer would Houses be legally torn apart because of career choices or marriage arrangements. Disabilities would not be considered a burden on Society and practicing the arts would be acceptable. Opportunities would be afforded to more than just those in Society. Just the tip of the iceberg. 

"You want me to..." He shakes his head. "To testify _against_ my mother's bill?" Steve scoffs. "You must be more disturbed than _I_ am if you think I'd ever sign that."

The paper to be signed crinkles loudly when Lord Pierce's hand squeezes around it. It sounds almost as irritated as he looks. The fire crackling in the fireplace, at least, seems to be on Steve's side, and would gladly burn it to ashes if only Steve could fling it in there. On the other side of his desk, Dr. Faustus chuckles softly. 

"Didn't I tell you he was stubborn?" he asks Lord Pierce. If he did, it was when Steve was unable to pay attention. "This shouldn't come as much of a surprise."

Lord Pierce, sucking in a deep, disgruntled breath, concedes to Dr. Faustus's point with a slight nod in his direction, even though his hard gaze remains focused solely on Steve. He makes a disappointed noise with his tongue before tucking the irritated paper back into his breast pocket. 

"I suppose not," he agrees with Dr. Faustus. "This one must be just as stubborn as his dead mother." 

" _Yes_ ," Steve bites back before he can even think to stop himself. "I _am_ just as _strong_ as her."

Without responding to that, Lord Pierce stands and straightens the end of his suit jacket. He exchanges a few more words with Dr. Faustus that Steve no longer feels obliged to listen to. Anything he has to say is a waste anyway. 

"Lord Rogers?" Steve sighs. He should have known he wouldn't leave that easily. Steve sweeps his eyes towards the door where Lord Pierce is standing. "Keep today in mind. If you think I can't bring you any lower, you'll find you're sorely mistaken. Dr. Faustus will take it from here."

Before the last thing Lord Pierce says fully registers to Steve, he realizes Dr. Faustus is already at his side. The proximity startles him, but he hardly has a chance to react beyond a quick gasp since the doctor coils his fingers through Steve's hair and he jerks his head to the side. Steve doesn't even have a chance to wonder what he's doing before there's a stabbing pain shooting through his neck. 

"What... what're you..."

He finishes that with a groan. The whole room swirls around him. Steve's not sure if he's upright anymore. Or if is even still in the same room anymore. He might've fallen over, he might not have. Everything is dark as something burns painfully through his body. 

"Focus, Steven." Dr. Faustus's voice echos through his head. "Focus on my voice. Just let the bromide work. Feel it pulling your body down, letting all your madness drift away."

 _What have you done to me_? Steve tries to ask. 

"Relax. You're just going to sleep for a few days," Dr. Faustus says. "Don't fight it."

Steve does fight it. He forces his eyes open and clings to the waking world as hands grab at his body and work him this way and that. But all of his fight just isn't enough. Blackness crawls all around him, wrapping and engulfing him in a deep, drugged sleep that Steve is powerless to stop. 

***

After the bromide sleep -- _I'm sorry, Steven,_ Dr. Faustus said, _we never tell a patient how many days they're put to sleep --_ time washes over Steve is strange, unfamiliar waves. Some moments, when the wave rolls out, he's aware of everything with vivid, pungent clarity. He can taste the stale, cold water that splashes down over him when he's given ice showers. Feel the pains in his body that come from the strain of the straitjacket he finds himself in more often than not and the electricity they shoot through him. He can hear the unpleasant and fearful sounds of others when he's placed in the chair that spins and spins -- over and over, sometimes until he's ill. 

No one other than Dr. Faustus comes in to speak with him anymore, not even the sweet nurse who used to read to him. Or, if she does, it's during the times Steve is unable to pull himself out of the trance they keep him in. The only person to ever assist the doctor, when he requires it, is the nurse with the brogue. She brings Steve his food and puts him to bed and administers the drugs. Drugs which are that much stronger than what he started on. 

When the wave crashes over him again, Steve doesn't always black out and lose time, but he's only vaguely aware of what's going on around him. As though he's watching the world through frosted glass. Hearing it as though his head is under water. There are times when he knows -- he just _knows --_ he's not supposed to be like that and he tries, he tries so hard to break free of the prison he's trapped within. 

Sometimes it works. 

Sometimes Steve bursts free of the restraints that hold him underwater and he finds himself unexpectedly in a place completely different than he was last. 

Like the time he sucked in a deep breath and blinked and saw green grass and bushes and flowers all around him. He was sitting on a wooden bench -- outside. Steve looked up at the clear blue sky. Felt the warm sun against his skin. Steve turned his head to the side. He wasn't sitting there alone.

"D-Dad?"

His dad was sitting on the bench next to him. He was sure of it. Even more so when his dad gasped and whipped his gaze at him. He turned to face Steve and put a hand upon his cheek. 

"Steve?" His dad's eyes were wide. "Steve, can you hear me?"

"Y-yes?" Steve was almost too afraid to really believe he was sitting there with his dad. Last time he dared to believe something similar, he'd been horribly wrong. "Dad?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me, Steve. I promise." He put his arms around him and hugged him tight. "I've been here everyday." Everyday? "As soon as they let me."

"Where's... where's Mama?" Steve shook his head when his dad's face fell. "Oh... she's..." His broken heart remembered. "I know. I'm sorry, Dad."

"Oh, Steve, no, it's okay. Are you... are they treating you..."

He didn't finish that. Steve didn't need him to. As much as he wanted him to know to truth, to tell him that he was scared and that he wanted to go home, he just couldn't. 

"I'm... okay. I'm okay," he whispered. He couldn't tell if his lie was believed or not. His father looked at him like he was holding in tears. 

"Listen to me." His dad took a tight grip of his shoulders to force Steve to look at him. It took a second for Steve to realize that his dad saw what he hadn't yet. Another wave was rolling over him. Ready to pull him under. "We're going to get you out of here. As the Head of the Household, I'll speak for you. Your husband--"

"My Bucky..." Steve breathed the name so softly, so tenderly. "Is he..."

"He's here," he told him.

And Steve's heart pulsed excitedly. With joy. He could even feel an actual smile on his mouth. "Here? My Bucky?"

"Yes, Steve. He comes with me everyday, but they won't let him past the front parlor. He's not allowed."

It's the last thing Steve can remember of the visit, but he's certain it wasn't a dream. He's quite sure his father really did come to see him -- _Everyday,_ he said. He's going to fight for him. In Court. Even though Steve is guilty, his father is still going to fight for him. And if what is father said is true, that means that everyday Bucky is there as well. Somewhere beyond the walls that trap Steve here, is his Bucky. 

Steve never gets to see him, not outside of his dreams -- when he does get a moment to escape into a dream of being home and tucked in bed with his husband -- but knowing he's close is something. It gives Steve something to hold onto and give him strength for the only other visitor he _does_ get to see. 

He always knows when Lord Pierce is coming. It's when the waves stay out the longest and clarity returns for extended periods of time. When Steve is able to hold onto time longer, he knows why. If he's going to be able to sign Lord Pierce's document with a sound mind, he needs to be able to at least think somewhat clearly. Lord Pierce, obviously, is not willing to chance being accused of forcing Steve to sign the agreement while under the influence of any sort of medical narcotics. The House of Rogers will easily be able to render the contract useless if the Courts find out. 

It's always the same. Steve, locked in a straitjacket, is taken to Dr. Faustus's office. He and Lord Pierce share a meal in front of Steve while discussing him as though he isn't present. Then, Lord Pierce will repeat his offer. 

There's no doubt that Steve had been wrong that first time. With the help of Dr. Faustus, Lord Pierce has indeed brought him lower. He's dragged Steve out of his home and away from his husband and family in a most humiliating fashion. No telling what gossip has been spread since Steve's been tossed in here. Whatever dignity Steve managed to retained is being slowly stripped away. 

And yet, whenever Lord Pierce makes his offer, Steve sits up as straight as he can, looks him right in the eye and turns him down. No matter how low he's been brought, it gives Steve the greatest sense of satisfaction to see Lord Pierce leave with that frustrated expression -- the tight eyes, the strained jaw, the flared nostrils -- stained upon his face. It's not a look the man is used to making and Steve is pleased he's become rather good at putting it there. 

Until today.

The third day in a row that Lord Pierce has come. 

"You must be getting very desperate," Steve says when he's brought back into the office again. For the first time in weeks -- perhaps even months -- he feels more like himself since being admitted here. He hasn't been given much of anything. Not in days. "The review must be very soon." There's no other reason for these consecutive visits. When Lord Pierce says nothing in response, Steve smirks. "I will never agree to it. Nothing you do will ever get me to betray my mother."

Lord Pierce shakes his head. "You've done well for yourself, I'll give you that, Lord Rogers. Perhaps you think if you hold on for the review, your mother's bill will be passed and you'll simply be pardon. Walk out of here a free man and get back to what you called a marriage."

Actually, Steve hadn't considered that, but now that it's been brought to his attention it certainly is a good idea. Sure, even if the Tolerance and Acceptance Act is passed it will take some time to be put into full effect, but it would still see Steve leaving here without even having to go to trial. Without having to go to prison. Maybe that's what his father is aiming for -- fighting to get the bill passed and then working on getting Steve pardoned. 

"When is the review?" Steve asks. 

"Three days from now."

Steve chuckles. 

"Is your campaign against the bill truly hinged on my testimony against it?" He clicks his tongue. "Forgive me, Lord Pierce, for assuming you'd have a better plan than this."

"You must admit," he replies, and, much to Steve's disappointment, he doesn't seem all that put off, "that Lady Rogers's own son speaking out against her proposed bill does have a certain _touch_ to it."

A touch he would enjoy, too. To pull apart the House of Rogers -- the House of loyalty and family -- from the inside out would be a dream come true for Lord Pierce and all traditionalists like him.

"It'll never happen," Steve swears. "You'll have to think of something else." 

"Oh, trust me, I have."

There's a cruel smirk curled up on Lord Pierce's mouth. It turns Steve's stomach to rot. He hasn't seen that look since the day Lord Pierce and Lord Rumlow came into Steve's home and caused this upheaval of his entire life.

Still, Steve tightens his jaw and says, "Do what you want to me. I'll never speak against my mother's bill."

"Yes, I've come to realize that." Lord Pierce still appears unperturbed by Steve's unwillingness to be swayed into signing his agreement. Something is different today. A brand new ace up his sleeve. "Bringing _you_ lower, doesn't help my case, does it? You're far too stubborn to break in such a way." 

Steve holds his chin up. "You won't break me."

"Oh, I _will_ ," he assures him. "You see, when you've discovered the thing a man fears most, you will have discovered the key and the means of controlling him." Lord Pierce sneers. "I admit, you fear very little. But all men have their breaking point." He reaches down for the leather carrier bag next to his seat, retrieves something from it, and places it on the desk. “And I know yours.”

The room pulses around Steve, hard and painful, his throat constricting with it. On the desk, still wrapped in cloth and tied with a satin bow, is the gift Steve meant to give Bucky for his birthday. 

“No,” Steve whispers.

“Yes.” Lord Pierce pats his hand over the package. “You see, your home was searched from top to bottom -- inside out -- and that whole room of yours was boxed up and carted away as evidence. This was confiscated under suspicion of illegal contraband at the same time your art was. Turns out I had the key to your undoing the whole time. I just didn’t know it until recently.” 

“That’s not--”

“Oh, then it’s not…” Lord Pierce gives a light tug to the bow. Makes the cloth fall away to reveal the stack of parchment it’s been hugging gently all this time. “What is it musician’s call this? Manuscript paper?” 

It was supposed to be a surprise. The parchment lined with staves ready for musical notation. His husband had been composing his song on blank paper. Steve thought this would be a nice way to show Bucky just how much the song meant to him -- how much he supported him. Steve wanted to give it to Bucky while aboard the ship, hoping inspiration would strike during their travels. It should be permitted. A song written for his headship, shared in the privacy between husbands, even among the whispers and glances of Society, is okay. No one was supposed to know anyway. 

“That’s not…” Steve mumbles. “What it looks like. It--”

“No?” Lord Pierce pulls something else out of his carrier bag and drops the few pages of Bucky’s incomplete song on top of the lined parchment Steve never had the chance to give to him. “It was your spouse who played piano at your dinner party, wasn’t it? Tell me, has he picked up unhealthy habits while under your unsuitable headship?”

“It’s not illegal,” he insists, though he’s well aware Lord Pierce is ready for this. “He’s not composing with the intention of distribution. Not like I did.” 

“Still,” Dr. Faustus, who’s been so awfully silent that Steve’s forgotten about him, says. “Given the amount of time he’s spent under your influence, it might be wise to bring Lord Barnes in for a period of observation. It would--”

 _“No_ ,” Steve growls. “Don’t you _dare_. Don’t you _touch_ my husband.”

From next to him, Lord Pierce sniggers as he drums his fingers lightly over the papers that’ll be used to condemn Bucky to this place. 

“Don’t you miss your spouse?” he asks. “The two of you seemed quite _cozy_ together. He could be placed in the room next to you. You both can--”

“I swear to you, if you _touch_ my Bucky,” Steve hisses. “I will rip you apart before my dying breath.” 

An unpleasant, cold smile turns up on Lord Pierce’s mouth. Steve can make all the threats he wants -- threats he, consequences be damned, fully intends to uphold -- it doesn’t change the fact that he is now at Lord Pierce’s mercy. 

“You have two choices,” Lord Pierce says. “Sign the agreement or see your spouse join you.”

With the ultimatum laid out for him, Steve feels ill. His stomach drops to his feet and the heat of his rage is quickly replaced by the ice that races through his veins. This can’t be happening, and yet, it is. A waking nightmare that’s just gotten far worse than he ever feared possible. Steve can barely even feel it as Dr. Faustus opens the straps that keep him locked in the straitjacket until it falls away and lands in a pile at Steve’s feet. 

“Please,” Steve whispers. “Don’t make me do this.”

He’s shaking. From head to toe. Either from the inner turmoil that seems determined to tear him apart or the great effort it’s taking to keep from launching himself at Lord Pierce. Maybe even both. 

“The choice is yours, Lord Rogers.” A pen is put on the desk in front of him as Bucky’s song and gift are replaced by Alexander Pierce’s agreement. “Make it.”

Steve glances over what he’s meant to sign. It’s basic and standard, exactly what Lord Pierce has been offering this whole time -- no hidden clauses or agendas shoved in there in an attempt to get more than what’s been shared with Steve already. 

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Steve mutters. “I will see that you don’t get away with this.”

His hand trembles as he reaches for the pen. He brings the tip of it down to the dotted line meant for his signature.

Only one question remains. Is Steve really willing to turn his back on the world for just one person? 

The answer is simple. 

Yes. 

When that one person is Bucky. 

Steve silently prays for his mother’s forgiveness as he signs and agrees to testify against her bill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i am the _worst_ for taking so damn long. but i'm working through this entire story till the end now with nearly half of the next chapter written, so that should hopefully be up within the next week or so and then there's just the epilogue left. thank you so much to everyone who's been so patient with me and stuck with this thing all this time. 
> 
> i hope everyone is doing well and will stick around for the conclusion!
> 
> Anyway here're some images to go along with this chapter! 
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> we have steve just in his bed
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> steve waking up dazed and confused
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> and, lastly, Steve realizing he has no choice but to sign the agreement. 
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> okay, well, I know things have been really low for poor Steve lately, but things are going to get better for him, I promise!!


	33. Two Years Ago I Started this Tale and Now it's Almost Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So okay omg here we are. I've actually finished writing the whole fic. After two long years of sweat, blood, and tears, I've actually written the whole thing out. It's done. Finished. Completed. 
> 
> Okay, so, because I know that sometimes Ao3 gets clogged with notifications and stuff, plus the chapters are, kinda lengthy, I'm gonna post them every other day or so until the whole fic is up. But it's all done being written. Done. Wow.
> 
> Anyway, though, i really hope you enjoy the conclusion!

Orange embers eat away at the thin paper of the cigarette between Bucky’s fingers, though he’s hardly taken more than two puffs of it. In the palm of his hand, he holds his cigarette case. Opened. So he can look at the photograph his husband had made for him so many months ago. An image that so brilliantly captures the happiness that had been silently bubbling inside of their marriage -- two strangers slowly becoming friends through trust and patience and laughter -- just waiting for the chance to burst free. 

The photograph had been taken at their photoshoot the day of their interview. When their marriage was no longer just a whisper of smoke, but still only turning into stained glass -- delicate, colorful thin pieces of glass fitting together to form something grand and unique for them and them alone -- and held above the ground by thin strings of frayed and shaky rope. 

Bucky likes to believe that since then, their marriage has turned into precious metal. Sturdy and beautiful and coveted by those who have only dreamed of such wonders. Something that won’t break and shatter into thousands of glittering pieces if the strong hands that now hold it happen to drop it. 

It’s been dropped before. Dropped and cracked and then mended to be made whole again. Bucky can only hope they have a marriage left to survive this drop and that, one day, Steve will look upon him with the light that shines in his beautiful eyes like in his photograph. 

“Lord Barnes.”

Bucky flicks his eyes up from his photo and to the nurse sitting behind the counter in the front parlor room of the Institute. He already knows what she’s going to say.

“I’ve asked you, _repeatedly,_ to _please_ refrain from smokin’ in here.”

Under normal circumstances, Bucky would probably listen after being asked just once. But these are anything but normal circumstances, and anyway, he doesn’t like this nurse -- the one with the heavy brogue. There’s something fierce and intense about her, and she looks at Bucky as though he’s a bug that needs to be squashed for daring to support his husband. So instead of indulging the request, Bucky -- who’s still of higher status than she is -- brings the end of the cigarette to his lips and lifts his eyebrows when he exhales. A dare to challenge him. It might be childish, but Bucky doesn’t care. They might be able to keep him from seeing Steve, but they can’t keep him from his petty indulgences such as watching the nurse’s face pinch and flush at his petulant behavior. 

Perhaps it’s not the wisest decision. Bucky has no way of knowing if this woman is able to, or if she does, take her grievances with him out on Steve. Since he really doesn’t want to give anyone any further ammunition to be used against his husband, Bucky takes one last inhale and then puts the cigarette out. 

The papers are already having a holiday with all of the stories they’re printing about what’s happened. Stories that Bucky always swears he won’t look at and ends up giving in and reading. Things about how Steve’s shattered the trust bestowed upon him by the grace of Society and interviews with Alexander Pierce claiming he always knew there was something off about him with the way the House of Rogers kept him hidden as a child. There have even been a few mentions of Bucky, and how he may have been mistreated after having been so horribly mislead. Jonah Jameson even went so far as to suggest that Bucky’s been living in constant fear of his headship which would explain the unusual behavior of their entire marriage.

Bucky doesn’t know why he does it to himself. He’s always in a disgusted rage whenever he finishes reading, usually flinging the paper away as though it’s the paper’s fault, yet he can’t bring himself not to read. It’s a great need to keep up with the rumors and gossip. And since he’s no longer on the Isle, reading the papers is the only way he can. 

Ever since this horrible nightmare began seven weeks ago, Bucky’s been under the care of the House of Rogers’s Head of Household -- Joseph -- since, just like Steve said, the House has kept him and taken him in. This, of course, did not come without an offer first. 

“The law dictates that if your headship is unable to care for you, that duty falls to me,” Joseph said the night Steve had been arrested. 

It had been a long, trying day full of angry outbursts and hot tears as Joseph argued tooth and nail with Judges and the Court to get Steve released to him on his son’s own recognizance and under the faith of the House Rogers’s good name. Bucky couldn’t be sure if it was better or worse that Sarah wasn’t around to bare witness to this. He’s quite sure she might have burned down anyone who stood in her way in her attempt to have Steve freed until a trial. 

“I’d never cast my own son out,” Joseph told Bucky. “And the same goes for his husband who’s as good as…” Joseph cut himself off before continuing the sentiment that brought a new round of tears to Bucky’s eyes. “But, if you’d prefer to return to the House of Barnes… if you want to avoid all that’s about to happen--”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky swore. “I will not abandon my husband.” He clasped his left hand around Joseph’s shoulder. “Or his father. I know you have your House and family, but your wife just… and now your son…” Bucky hurt all over and his mouth was being no friend to him that day. “I just… I don’t want to leave.”

Joseph hugged him then and while in his embrace Bucky was sure he was doing his best to keep from shedding tears. As much pain as Bucky felt, he couldn’t imagine how this all felt for him. 

Early the next morning, Joseph sent Bucky back home to gather his things for an entirely different trip than the one he and Steve had already prepared. No longer would Bucky be traveling across the sea with his husband to white, sandy beaches and warm, clear oceans. Instead, he’d be going with his new father to the Mainland -- an hour’s ride north of Manhattan Isle so they could rent a place near the privately run Institute that Steve had been taken to. 

When Bucky returned for his things as Joseph requested, he could only stand in the doorway for a moment, just staring at the mess that had been made of his once kind and peaceful home. He took one step, and the sound of cracking glass scolded him for not being more careful. Under his foot was a framed photo of Steve and Sarah, cracked down the middle. Bucky reached down to pick it up only to have the whole thing fall apart in his hands.

_You broke it,_ his hands ridiculed. _All of it_. 

Staring down at it, Bucky couldn’t answer at first. Not until he carefully plucked the photograph away from the jagged pieces of glass and twisted metal.

_No,_ he whispered. _Not all of it_.

Bucky folded it up and slid it into his back pocket before maneuvering around the rest of the mess in the front parlor as he made his way further into his home to find it completely ransacked. From top to bottom. Tables were turned over and drawers were emptied out. Clothes strewn over the stairs and books tossed all over the place. All of his and Steve’s possessions treated like garbage and handled as such. 

He was upstairs in their bedroom -- which was in just as much disarray as the rest of the rooms -- trying to pick through the mess for some of his clothes so that he wouldn’t end up looking like a vagabond traveling with Lord Rogers when he heard a noise downstairs. At first, Bucky thought they’d returned. Perhaps Alexander had come back with more patrol officers to search more. Or maybe vandals had come in to pillage whatever they could now that the home of the once great Lord Rogers was disgraced. 

Grabbing a poker, which, as luck would have it, happened to still be by the fireplace, Bucky slowly made his way down the stairs, ready to face whatever sort of intruder was down there. There had been no trial yet. Steve was still Lord Steven Rogers and this was still their home and Bucky would protect it. 

Only, after following the noises to the kitchen, Bucky found no prowler. No patrol officer. No Alexander Pierce. What he did find broke his heart, and the poker slipped from his hand, landing with a loud crashing sound on the kitchen tiles. 

“Truvie,” he whispered. Watched a heartbeat or two as Truvie swept the glass of the broken dishes that marred the floors of her once pristinely kept kitchen. “Stop. Please…” He stepped up to her, more glass cracking under his shoes, and tried to take the broom only she wouldn’t let him. “You don’t have to…”

“Look at the mess they made,” she said, and Bucky heard, with a painful stabbing to his heart, that her voice was thick with tears. “I won’t have it. It isn’t right. Not right at all. I won’t stand for it.” She abandoned the bigger broom to pick up the smaller one with the dustpan. Swept the tiny pile up and chucked it into the garbage bin as though it made some significant change to the shambles they were standing among. “I don’t care if I have to call all of the staff in to work day and night, I will see this place put back in order.”

Bucky looked around the kitchen as Truvie got back to her sweeping. From out in the hall, some of the staff she spoke of came in and asked where they should go. Truvie handed out directions before getting back to work. 

“Please, Truvie,” Bucky murmured. “This is… it’s too much. Take some time off. Steve only…”

She shook her head, paying close attention to her tedious chore. “ _Everything_ will be put back in its proper place by the time you and Lord Rogers return. Together. Just a little hard work and elbow grease are all it’ll take. That’s all.” 

“O-okay,” he whispered. He could see what was happening. Understood it in the depth of his very soul. The need to feel useful in a world full of chaos. “Truvie?” She kept sweeping but looked up anyway. “I’ll be traveling with Lord Rogers and I could… use your help. Getting some things together.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course, m’Lord.” She put the broom aside and led the way back up to the master bedroom. 

It only took Truvie minutes to sort through the mess enough for Bucky to have two small suitcases full of clothes suitable of a gentleman and once again, Bucky was packed, this time, for a trip he never imagined having to take. 

“Truvie, I…” Bucky wanted to give her his love. Wanted to thank her for everything she’d done for him. But Bucky, like Truvie, feared this was goodbye, and could think of only one thing to do. He pulled the Housekeeper into his arms and hugged her close. “It’ll be okay, Truvie,” he murmured.” _You don’t know that,_ his brain argued. _I don’t care_ , he shot back. “You’ll see. Everything will be just fine. I know it.”

He didn’t know it. 

He still doesn’t know it. 

Even all these weeks later as he sits in the front parlor room of the Institute keeping Steve away from him. 

It’s a nice place, Bucky can admit to that. Beautiful walnut walls and shiny marble floors. High vaulted ceilings and a beautiful grand staircase that leads to places that Bucky hasn’t been allowed to see. Lord Rogers is the only one they’ll let past this spot. It’s kept warm with roaring fires in long, ornately built fireplaces, though, with the warming weather those fires are kept down to more of a smolder. Bucky can only hope that Steve is warm, wherever they have him. 

Bucky tries to believe in his parting words to Truvie, but it’s getting more and more difficult to find reason to hope. Especially when, in the week and a half that Joseph’s been allowed in to see Steve, only one of his thirty-minute visits has seen him returning with a story of Steve aware enough to speak to him. It’s the drugs, Joseph’s told him, even in a privately funded Institute such as this. 

Before all this, Bucky knew very little about how the country’s institutes were run. Before knowing Steve, Bucky truly believed they were places designed solely for the intention of helping people. Before being part of the House of Rogers, Bucky never thought to question the running practices of Society. 

Now, his husband has been taken because of those practices. Taken into the custody of a place Bucky thought was meant to help when he knows nothing of its real operations. They won’t share much with him, Joseph and Bruce and Betty, that is, all of which have seen the inner workings of these places, and, when he’s being honest with himself, Bucky’s not sure he minds all that much. His imagination is doing a good enough job coming up with gut-wrenching ideas all on its own. 

He’s heard the stories. Stories that, up until now, he’d always believed were made up to scare children with their gross exaggerations of what goes on here. 

Steve is getting his proper medications, Bucky knows that much. Knows that the House of Banner has seen to it that. Just another fun piece of information the papers have been running with. How Steve’s been sick his whole life so his artistic tendencies shouldn’t be surprising. 

The guilt is overwhelming. Not that Steve would want him to feel any guilt over this, Bucky knows that. Somehow, even though it was his letter that’s gotten them into this deplorable ordeal, Steve will never blame Bucky for this. Neither will Joseph, who knows exactly why Alexander Pierce was able to secure a search warrant for his son’s home because Bucky told him the truth, all of it. That all helps, it does, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from turning his stomach to ash every waking moment. 

He hasn’t been sleeping much. Long, restless nights that see dark, twisted shadows making a mockery out of everything that was once kissed by the sweet lips of daylight. It’s hard to sleep in a strange, new bed without Steve. Even harder knowing he’s in here, so close, yet kept where Bucky can’t reach him. 

As Bucky waits for Lord Rogers to return from today’s visit with Steve, trapped within the opulent and sumptuous room that is as much as a prison as it is a front parlor, watching nurses and staff and visitors go about their business, he slumps down in his seat and leans his head back against the wall. He’s sure he looks sloven and sloppy and unkempt. It probably doesn’t help that he has three days worth of stubble on his face and hasn’t done his hair and hardly cares if his shirt is tucked in properly. If the staff didn’t already know him, they’d probably think he’s trespassing. 

There’s nothing here to hold his interest. No one he cares to impress. Let the staff talk to nosy and prying reporters. They’ll make up stories with stretched truths and little white lies anyway. Call Steve a disgrace and Bucky broken for standing by him while conveniently leaving out that Bucky’s diligent visits stem from nothing more than loyalty and love for the man who led him out of darkness. 

Bucky closes his eyes. Tries to block out a world that cares less for him than he does for it. A moment of peace. Just one. Away from these horrors that he’s created on his own if only to give him the strength to keep fighting for his husband. 

The hand on his shoulder startles him out of a dreamless sleep he didn’t even realize had taken him until he jerks awake. It takes a fuzzy, bleary-eyed moment to notice that the hand on his shoulder is real, and not the fabrication of some demon in his mind coming to make things worse. Bucky glances up at its owner. 

“What?” he mutters when he sees a nurse standing there. “What do you want?” 

He shouldn’t be so brash. It isn’t polite of him and this isn’t the nurse with the brogue. In fact, he’s never seen this one and she’s smiling softly at him. She doesn’t even appear put off by his rudeness. Actually, if anything, she seems understanding. 

“I understand you enjoy a good smoke?” she says. 

Bucky huffs and throws an irritated glare to the nurse with the brogue. She’s not paying any attention at all to him at the moment.

“I’m not smoking right now,” he grumbles. “I already put the cigarette out. I’m not bothering anyone.”

“Oh, I know,” she replies. “I was just wondering if you’d care to join me for one.” She offers him a kind smile. “Outside.”

Not quite understanding the nature of her offer, Bucky just blinks. No one, not _one_ person here, has gone out of their way to be kind. Polite and courteous to Lord James Barnes, yes, but that’s simply out of requirement and expectations. Bucky’s always been able to tell the difference. Unless this nurse is simply very good in areas of deceit, she really _is_ being kind. 

“You’re being serious?” Bucky questions. “You’re asking me to join you outside for a cigarette?”

“If you’d be so inclined,” she says with a slight nod of her head, “yes.”

“Um…” He looks around. There’s no one paying any attention to him or the nurse speaking to him. This request is just too strange and out of nowhere for Bucky to ignore. He stands and gestures for the door. “After you, ma’am.” 

They step out onto the long, wrap around porch. There’re cast iron benches set up along it, though Bucky’s never actually seen anyone on them. To be fair, the weather’s only recently started getting nice enough to even consider sitting outside anyway.

Bucky steps to the side so that they’re not in front of the stairs and entrance and takes out his cigarette case again. Only the nurse shakes her head and keeps going. Steps down the stairs and heads further away from the Institute. Bucky follows. 

“Where are we going?” he asks. “I can’t leave. I need to--”

“There are ears everywhere,” she replies softly. “It’s best to move to somewhere private.”

Private, apparently, means closer to the front gates. And now that Bucky has an idea of what this nurse wants with him, he’s anxious to get there quickly. If she’s worried about being overheard, that must mean she wants to discuss something with him. Maybe even talk about Steve. Bucky’s ready to break out into a run if that’ll get him information on his husband faster. But the nurse keeps her pace cool and casual, never breaking her stride the way Bucky wishes she would. It’s wise, he’s sure, but that doesn’t keep him from huffing on the inside. 

“Who are you?” Bucky asks as they move. “Are you really a nurse?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “Yes. My name is Claire. And I’ve worked with your husband.” 

A breath catches in Bucky’s throat. This woman’s -- Claire -- her voice is warm and kind. She reminds him of Sarah. She cares about what she does and the people she works with. Steve’s had someone who’s cared for him in there. 

“What did you do for him?” Bucky questions. “For my husband, I mean.”

Claire reaches into the front pocket of her nurse’s apron and pulls out an already rolled cigarette. It’s not in a case like Bucky has. Not surprising. She might be part of Society, but lower Society. A cigarette case is a luxury she probably doesn’t have. 

Cigarette between her lips, she takes out a box of matches next, but Bucky holds his brass lighter to light it for her. She smiles in appreciation and takes the first pull of her cigarette. Claire looks back at the Institute before answering Bucky’s question. 

“I read to him,” she says. “Every day.” Claire shakes her head and sighs. “I doubt he notices anymore with all the drugs they have him on.” She flicks her gaze to Bucky. “They’ve told me not to. I go anyway.” 

“Why?” Bucky asks. 

She takes another puff of her cigarette. “Because, on the off chance he becomes aware while I’m in there, I’d like for him to hear a kind voice.”

Her words fall upon him like warm drops of sunlight. For whatever reasons, this woman has risked losing her position to be kind to Steve -- a man Society has deemed disgraced. Even if Bucky loses everything after this, he will be forever grateful to her. 

_Don’t cry_ now, he pleads with his eyes.

_Can’t help it,_ they mutter back as tears build and sting against his greatest efforts to keep them back. 

Bucky hasn’t cried much since Steve was taken away. Not at all even. Funny, that. He’s spent so much time crying in the beginning of his marriage -- so many tears wasted for a life he thought was ruined -- and now, when real tragedy has struck, he can barely muster them up. 

“Why?” Bucky asks through the thick emotions that gather in his throat. “Why are you being so kind to him?”

Claire turns so she’s facing the Institute. Bucky follows in suit. The huge mansion looms in the distance, back up the wide, dirt path lined with vast, green lawns, shrubs, trees, and bushes. It’s a grand place, even from the outside -- towering over everything with its huge, stained glass windows and steepled roofs. 

Holding her cigarette between two fingers, Claire flicks some ashes away before taking one last puff from it and dropping it into the dirt. She squishes it with the toe of her shoe. 

“There are so many people in there,” she says. “People who need help, others who have just been put away because they’ve become an embarrassment to their Houses.” Claire lights another cigarette. “There’s even a lady under our care who’s been placed here by her headship after failing to birth him a son. Not only are we understaffed, but we’re terribly lacking in staff that truly wishes to help.”

“My husband doesn’t belong in there.”

She shakes her head. “No, he doesn’t. Your husband, like his mother before him, has been an advocate for the changes we desperately need. Which is why I think you should know that Lord Pierce came to see him.”

Bucky’s blood runs cold. Whatever small amount of relief Claire’s kindness has provided freezes over at the mere mention of Alexander anywhere _near_ Steve in there. His fingers curl into tight fists.

“Do you know why?” he asks through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what he _wanted from my husband_?” 

“No, I don’t.” She shakes her head with a lick of her teeth. “But I do know that after his visit is when Lord Rogers’s medications were doubled. That’s when they limited the staff’s interaction down to Dr. Faustus and one or two nurses. You met one of them. The lovely woman inside.” 

He sighs. Of course. The nurse with the brogue has full access to Steve. It shouldn’t be that surprising. 

Claire says, “I think he wants something and Lord Rogers won’t give it to him. But I doubt he’ll stop trying. He’s been back once already.” She drops her second cigarette to the ground just like she did her first. “I thought you and Lord Joseph Rogers should be made aware of it. I don’t know if you can do anything about it, but, at least you know. Now, I have to get back in before anyone notices that I’m missing.”

Her abrupt need to leave catches Bucky off guard. He barely even gets a chance to murmur his thanks before she’s headed up the dirt path back towards the Institute. Left standing there on his own, Bucky turns away from the deplorable place and faces the huge, iron gates that surround the property. 

A tremble slithers up his back as he grabs for the fence for support. The iron is cold beneath his grip, even with the warming days, as if some things are just not meant to be graced by the warmth of the sun. 

Over on the lawns, there are people walking, milling about as they get to visit with their loved ones. Closer to him than Bucky cares them to be. There’s a man staring at him. He has a young man with him -- his son or maybe grandson. Perhaps they’re actually allowed to see whoever they’re here to visit. Even if they’re, at the moment, wasting their time by staring at the spouse of the disgraced Lord Rogers. Bucky turns away.

He needs a moment to think. To maybe figure out what Alexander would want with Steve now that he’s already disgraced and humiliated the House of Rogers. In Society’s eyes, anyway. The House of Rogers supports Steve fully. Always would have, even if Steve had rejected his position years ago and pursued the life of an artist instead. Sure, he’d be known as a blight among High Society -- a stain on the House of Rogers’s good name. Someone so full of potential and hope who, instead, fell prey to the strange, inner workings of his mind and chose his art over his House’s tradition. 

But the House of Rogers would never have turned their backs on him. They’d’ve gone on cherishing and appreciating everything about him, just like they always had. 

Not that any of it matters now. Alexander Pierce is after something more -- something from Steve. It’s just a matter of figuring out what. And, if possible, coming up with a way to stop him. Whatever it is Alexander wants will never bode well for those he sees as inferior. 

First and foremost, Bucky needs to tell Joseph. Maybe together they can get some sort of upperhand if they at least _know_ that Lord Pierce is looking to get from Steve. 

“Lord Barnes?” 

His name being said startles Bucky from his thoughts and grabs his attention. The man who was staring at him, the one with his son or grandson, is standing just a few feet from him now. He dressed formally, though, to be honest, that shouldn’t strike Bucky as surprising. It would be rare for someone below Society to be brought to a private institute such as this. 

“Please.” Bucky sighs and turns. “Go away.” 

So far, Bucky’s managed to avoid any open mockery and ridicule. He’d like to keep it that way.

“I… we didn’t mean to disturb you, Lord Barnes.” He clears his throat. Speaks clearly and without hesitation. “I just wanted to tell you that… that we support you and your husband. That’s all. Come along, Eli.”

Shock splashes over him, the surprise of two very different sources of support streaking across the dark sky like a dull rainbow after a hurricane. Spinning around, Bucky watches as the two leave like he’s asked them to. The younger one glances back at him. 

“No… wait!” Bucky calls after him. He stops and nods his head respectfully. “Do you… do you mean that?”

“Mean that?” he repeats. “That we support Lord Rogers?” He nods before Bucky can clarify for him. “Yes, Lord Barnes. Your headship is a good man who fights for others when no one else will.” Well, this man certainly knows where Steve’s heart lies, even if he doesn’t actually know him. “We might not be as prestigious or influential as some Houses, but the House Bradley is a proud House. My grandson, Elijah, here,” Lord Bradley pats him on the back, “even took the stand as a character witness for his friend Katherine after men took advantage of her. Looked Lord Pierce _right in the eye_ and told him he was _wrong_ for saying young Kate would make something like that up just because she’s below Society.” 

“She would _never_ ,” Elijah mumbles as though his grandfather saying so just isn’t enough. “She wouldn’t do something like that.” 

Lord Bradley grins with pride at his grandson and then looks back at Bucky again, that pride still all around him. 

“It was Lord Rogers that made sure the case was heard in Court.” Lord Bradley holds his chin up. “The newspapers may not care what we have to say,” he tells Bucky. “But I thought, perhaps, you would.”

Would. Does. Bucky wonders if this is what it feels like to breathe fresh air after being trapped in smoke. To see the world again for what it could be when not clouded by a dark haze. Bucky thought the House of Rogers was alone in this. Which is probably all part of Alexander Pierce’s game. What a better way to ensure a winning hand than to make an opponent feel helpless and weak. Isolated and cut of from all means of support.

But if there was some way to prove to the world, to Lord Pierce and the rest of Society, that that’s not true, then perhaps Bucky has a way of turning the tides in Steve’s favor after all. 

“Lord Bradley, I…” Bucky extends his hand, honored to shake the one of someone so true and brave. “I cannot thank you enough for this.”

“No thanks required, Lord Barnes.” 

“I… yes but…” Bucky’s still shaking his hand, longer now than what would be deemed proper. Lord Bradley doesn’t really seem to mind. In fact, if the smile is any indication, he appears to find it humorous. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so very much.” Coming towards them now is Joseph, back with his visit from Steve and probably looking for Bucky. The despondent look on his face, that bone tired, wary expression he’s trying so hard to hide, tells Bucky all he needs to know. There’s no change in Steve, and Bucky takes another hit to his gut. “I… I’m sorry, sir, I need to…”

“Of course, go on.” He takes it upon himself to take his hand back since Bucky has yet to let go. “Come on, Elijah, let’s be on our way.”

They walk away this time, leaving Bucky there to wait for Joseph on his own. Bucky feels like a spool of thread that’s been knocked off the table. Left to make sense of the tangled up mess and pick at tiny knots with big, clumsy fingers on his own. It’s hard to imagine that so much has happened in such a short amount of time. Then again, at this point, perhaps Bucky should be used to it. 

***

The house Lord Rogers has rented in a nice one. Kind and welcoming, nestled out in the countryside just a short drive away from the Institute. It’s not as glamorous as the House of Rogers’ farmhouse, with windows galore and enough room for all those people, but it’s sweet and quaint. Ivy hugs the front like a dear old friend and an old, picket fence wraps around the property. The floorboards talk whenever anyone walks across them, as do the doors whenever they’re opened or closed. A small pond sits out in the front and there’s a stable in the back. Bucky wonders if Steve rides. He does. He never did think to ask his husband. Maybe one day he’ll get the chance to remedy that. 

Steve would like it here, Bucky thinks as he sits out on the front porch smoking another cigarette. Simple and quiet. A private place where he could just be him and they could just be them. 

The front door creaks open, but Bucky doesn’t bother to turn. He already knows it’s Joseph coming out to join him. Neither of them say anything as he stands beside the porch swing Bucky’s sitting on. It’s too big, the swing, with no one to share it with. Joseph’s asked a few times this evening why Bucky wants permission to return to the Isle tonight. Bucky knows he’s asking for a lot of blind trust by not telling him what he plans on doing there. 

After telling Joseph about Alexander’s visit with Steve and the kind nurse’s suspicions it won’t be his only one, Bucky thought it best to handle this on his own. Joseph has so much to deal with already. With his wife’s death and son’s incarceration and House being questioned, Bucky’d rather not put any more strain on him. He’s quite sure Sarah would have approved of his idea and he knows Steve would, but Joseph… he’s not exactly sure about. 

From what Bucky understands of Lord Rogers, he prefers to have as much information as possible before springing into action and even then prefers to do so quietly. A virus, so to speak, bringing down an enemy without even being noticed until it’s too late. Steve, like his mother before him, is a little more easily wound up, and just can’t ignore a situation when he sees it’s heading south right then and there. Like punching Brock Rumlow in the face, for instance. Bucky smiles to himself. 

While what Bucky has in mind isn’t quite a punch in the face, it still might be a bit out of Lord Rogers’s comfort zone, and Bucky figures it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. For Steve, he’s just about willing to beg for anything anyway. 

After another few minutes of silence, of watching the first few stars awaken in the evening sky, go by, broken then by the carriage coming down the road. Bucky’s stomach flattens. The nearest property is miles in the other direction. If someone is coming this way, it must be for them. 

Before the panic gets any real chance to gnaw at his bones, Joseph is handing him a piece of paper with the House of Rogers’s crest stamped at the bottom. Confused, Bucky looks at the paper without reading the words upon it and then back up at Joseph. 

“If anyone gives you any trouble, that gives you permission to be out and about given the current circumstances,” he explains. “No one _should_ , but just in case.”

Bucky glances over the paper again and sees what he missed when Joseph first handed it to him. Next to the porch swing is Bucky’s smaller suitcase, his frockcoat and derby hat resting over it. 

“You mean…”

Joseph nods and gestures out to the approaching carriage. “I phoned you a taxi to take you back to the train station so you can go back to the Isle. Whatever it is you want to do there, I know you have my son’s best interest at heart.” 

“I do,” Bucky promises. “I swear, Lord Rogers. I only want what’s best for Steve. I… I love him.”

Smiling softly, Joseph pats his shoulder just as the carriage comes to a stop in front of the house. “I know you do. Thank you for that.” He eyes the carriage. “Go on, Bucky,” he whispers, the ghost of his pain lingering in the back of his throat. “Go before I change my mind.”

He’s only fooling with him, Bucky knows that, but there’s still a slight harshness to his voice when he says it. Fear, probably. Or tension. Worry over what Bucky’s going to do and just the entire situation. Bucky makes an attempt not to overthink it as he stands and presses a friendly kiss to his new father’s cheek. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Bucky murmurs as he quickly moves for the carriage with Joseph’s written permission gripped tightly in his hand. “The next morning the latest, I swear.” 

Joseph doesn’t answer that and Bucky glances over his shoulder to see that he’s simply going back into the house. Guilt washes over him as he lets himself into the carriage, not bothering to wait for the cabbie to get down and open the door for him. 

Bucky misses Sarah now more than ever, and that makes him feel incredibly horrible. Joseph is still here and grieving and fighting for his son as hard as he can. It’s just… Sarah was different. Not better different, that’s not it. Just different, is all. In the few months he had the privilege of knowing her, Bucky truly grew to love her just as much as he does his own mother. Sarah marched across his soul and left a mark, one that will never leave. 

All this would be different if Sarah was here. Her voice would be ringing out for everyone to hear. There wouldn’t be a soul she’d let stand in her way. In fact, she’d probably already have done what Bucky’s hoping to do now.

***

The woman at the ticket window gives him a bit of trouble about being without his new Head of the Household, mostly, Bucky thinks, out of obligation rather than an actual grievance. Once Bucky presents Joseph’s written form of permission, the lady accepts it, gives Bucky his ticket and he gets on his way. 

A few people on the platform take a few longer than necessary glances in his direction as though unsure or not if he really is Lord Barnes, married to the infamous Lord Rogers. Or maybe just trying to get a better look at him during their very public downfall. Bucky keeps his head down and his mouth shut. For now, anyway. 

No one on the train gave him any problems. It’s a quiet ride. Not what Bucky would call pleasant. Lonely, really, without Steve with him. The car Bucky’s in is not as grand as the one he and Steve had during the holiday travels -- with just a simple bed, desk, armchair, and private restroom -- but it’s comfortable enough and suits his needs. He keeps the curtains closed up tight. 

The train pulls into the station just after dawn. Bucky tried to sleep in his car but never quite managed more than a little bit of dozing. There’re more people here. More people to notice him, more people to stare. A few point and whisper as Bucky makes his way down to street level, others, he thinks, might look at him the way Lord Bradley had. He can only hope. 

Bucky thinks as he makes his way to the taxi station, that he should’ve thought to ask Joseph to arrange for Stiles or another driver to pick him up. Although to be honest, he’s not even sure if Stiles would even be at liberty to do him the service right now. Perhaps Stiles is no longer even working for the House of Rogers. For all Bucky knows, he’s given in his notice. No doubt, like Truvie and the rest of their staff, he and his family have been questioned for what went on in Steve’s household. 

No matter. A quick carriage ride will get Bucky to the House of Rogers’s building in the Lower East Side. The cabbie is considerate enough to only give him a stale, ugly stare after Bucky gives him the address. It could be worse, Bucky reminds himself as he climbs into the carriage unassisted by the cabbie. 

The early hour makes for easy travels. Fewer people on the road. It doesn’t really take all that long to get to there, but Bucky sits in the back of the carriage, unable to sit still. He fidgets -- ringing his hands and tugging on his ear and turning his wedding ring, the clink, clink, clink of metal against metal almost as soothing as the notes he plays on the piano at home.

_Stop it_ , his hands scold when he begins to fiddle with them again. _Stay calm or you won’t get_ anything _done._

Bucky huffs and drops them into his lap. 

_I know, I know_ , he answers _. I’m just getting nervous._

He hadn’t been. Not at first. But now that it’s finally dawning on him that he might actually be doing this -- might actually have a way to garner support for Steve in a very loud and public way -- he has knots in his stomach.

_Don’t blame me for this_ , his stomach accuses.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

_Shut up, I wasn’t._

When the carriage pulls to a stop, Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat. He pulls the curtain of the small window back, a small part of him suspicious that he’s been tricked and taken somewhere else. This whole ordeal seems to have made him a tad bit paranoid. A sigh of relief breathes through him, though, as right outside, as it should be, is the House of Rogers’s building.

As if worried he won’t be paid appropriately, the cabbie is sure to hold his hand out after he opens the door for Bucky. Bucky, having received a decent pocket full of money for this trip from Joseph along with his notice of permission, gives him his payment and nothing more. No tip, no gratitude, and he makes his way onto the House of Rogers’s property. 

Before Bucky can pull the cord to ring the bell or even lift his hand to knock, the door is opening and the Housekeeper is standing there. Frances, Bucky thinks her names is, and instantly feels bad for not learning the names of the House of Rogers’s staff. 

“Lord Barnes,” she greets. “Come in, come in, m’Lord. We’ve been expecting you.” 

She steps to the side to welcome him in. Bucky steps in and she quickly closes the door behind him. There’re already two other maids there, one coming to take his hat and coat, the other offering him a cup of tea which he politely declines. The family portrait in the front entry, unsurprisingly, is still covered in a black veil. Bucky’s gaze lingers over it. 

“The Lord Rogers gave us explicit instructions to accommodate your every need,” Frances says, carefully, as if unsure if she’s interrupting his thoughts. 

While some breakfast would be nice, Bucky’s not so sure his stomach could handle anything more than a bit of toast right now, and even that might be pushing it. Still, he knows his husband, his headship, likes it when he takes care of himself -- keeps himself healthy. He’ll remember to ask for that in just a little while. First things first. 

“The telephone, please,” Bucky says. “I need to phone a few people.”

She nods and gestures towards the staircase. “Right this way, m’Lord.”

Frances brings him to the library on the second floor. All the portraits along the way, like the one in the entry, are covered. For a fleeting moment, as they walk, Bucky thinks of home. Not the one he’s made with Steve, the new one that grew up organically all around him out of warmth and love with the husband he never knew he wanted more than anything in the world. He thinks of the House of Barnes’s penthouse in the Upper West Side, where the portraits are also covered up and have been for almost a year. 

The thought is like being plunged into a tub of ice water. A year. In just a few weeks time it will have been a year since his father died. His mother and sister will be taking the black veils off the family portraits. Together, they’ll visit the House Barnes’s mausoleum to pay their respects. They’ll stop wearing black, his mother will re-enter Society and they’ll both be able to attend social functions again. Their mourning period will be over. And Bucky… Bucky never really had any. He doesn’t even have time to grieve for his father’s anniversary. Not in any traditional sense. Then again, this past year has been anything but traditional.

From within his pocket, he pulls out the watch that once belonged to his father. Turns it over in his hands. Funny thing, time. As a child, Bucky thought he could hold onto it forever. Turns out he was wrong. Time, it would seem, is only a gift. One that can be taken away at any moment. He hasn’t spoken much about his father with Steve, choosing to keep that bit of himself closed in one last folded part of his heart. He won’t any longer. When this is over, Bucky will open it. Maybe it’ll be wrinkled and torn, but Bucky’ll smooth it out as best he can and share it with Steve. Share all of himself. 

Determined not to waste one second of his time with Steve, Bucky puts his watch back in his pocket and goes to the telephone on the desk in the library. Frances had been kind enough to close the door behind her when she left Bucky, assuring him that she and the rest of the staff would be available to his every need. Bucky lifts the phone and taps on the switchhook to make a connection. 

“Operator?” Bucky says when someone picks up. “I need you to connect me to a private residence and I need you to let it ring until someone picks up.”

There’s a very clear hesitation, but since the operator is sure to know this call is coming from the House of Rogers, she says, “Very well, sir. Where would you like me to connect you?”

“I don’t know the exact exchange,” Bucky explains. “I need you to find it for me, but I’m sure it’ll be no trouble.” His voice turns sour, he just can’t help it. “You’ve probably done so many times.”

Another hesitation. “Who do you wish to reach?”

“Jonah Jameson.” 

***

The bell ringing turns Bucky’s blood to ice. He leans his palms against the buffet pushed up against the wall. Breathes in and out. Slowly. There’re framed photographs on the buffet. Black and white pictures of Steve and his parents and other members of their House, some Bucky recognizes, some he hasn’t met and others he never got the chance. Steve’s face smiles at him. 

Bucky grinds his teeth as Jonah Jameson’s voice grates through his ears. He takes in another deep, steady breath. He can do this. 

“Lord Barnes!” he exclaims before he’s even in the room. “How unlike you. You better believe, I--”

For once in his life, Mr. Jameson has run out of words; shocked, probably by what he finds waiting for him in the drawing room. 

A soft hand runs across his back. Bucky doesn’t need to turn around to know that Natalia is standing behind him. He breathes out softly, knowing the House of Rogers’s parlor room is full of people here to support him and Steve. The reason Jonah Jameson’s had the words stolen right out of him. 

“Mr. Jameson,” Bucky greets softly just before turning around. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yes, well.” He fixes his ascot and clears his throat. “I didn’t expect such a… full house.”

Mr. Jameson scans the room, his eyes landing on a few people, some of which stare back with straightened spines and others who buckle and look away. 

“My apologies if you feel mislead,” Bucky says. “I told you I’d give you an interview and I will. I just never said it would be only with me. Mr. Jameson, I believe you know some of the Houses being represented today?”

“Jonah!” That would be Tony, strolling over to Mr. Jameson and taking him by the hand with both of his. The House Potts had been one of the first Houses Bucky phoned after setting up this interview. “Good to see you, good to see you.”

“Lord Stark,” Mr. Jameson grumbles as Tony’s handshake becomes more and more vivacious. He glances over Tony’s shoulder. “Lady Potts.” 

“Mr. Jameson,” she replies, polite because she’s Pepper, hard because she’s here to support Steve and doesn’t particularly care for this man. “Lovely to see you again.”

When Tony finally lets go of Mr. Jameson’s hand -- Mr. Jameson takes it back as though relieved he’s done so -- Bucky takes a moment to introduce him to all the Houses being represented. In addition to the Pepper and Tony of the House Potts, there’s Howard and Maria of the House Stark and Peggy and Gabe -- who are sure to mention they’re here for _both_ the Houses Jones and Carter. Sam and Maria, whose budding courtship serve as representation of their separate Houses, came together, and Natalia and Clint haven’t married yet, so their Houses also have given permission for equal representation. Both Bruce and Betty are there for their Houses as well. 

While Bucky didn’t think they’d need convincing, he’d still been nervous when calling them for their help. After all, it’s still their livelihoods and reputations at stake. But each of them had pretty much the same thing to say -- that Steve, at the drop of a hat, would do the same for them.

After them, came the harder part. Calling Dr. Odinson made his heart hammer against his ribs, especially when the man paused after Bucky made his request. But after the pause, Dr. Odinson simply said he’d speak to his Head of his Household about it. Bucky doubted Lord Odinson would give his blessing for such a thing, but Dr. Odison is here, along with Lady Foster -- who Dr. Odinson must’ve called on his own. 

Elijah Bradley gives Mr. Jameson a proud smirk when Bucky introduces him and Isiah, and Bucky’s admiration for the young man soars. In the corner of the room, sipping her tea, is Bucky’s own mother. He’d been uncertain if his aunt, the new Barnes’s Head of Household would grant her permission to be here, and, really, he’s not sure if Winifred actually obtained it or not, but she’s still here.

Then there’s Peter Parker, the photographer who took the photo that Steve had made for Bucky’s cigarette case. He and Steve have a history. Not much, but Steve once tried to help Peter when he was a little boy. At that New Year's Gala Steve holds so fondly in his memories of when he and Bucky technically first met. _Even the smallest star shines bright in the dark_ , Bucky’d told him that night, and Steve never forgot.

Bucky didn’t think to call the House Parker, but Peter showed up with Tony sort of jabbering away nervously as though needing to talk in order to feel useful. 

“Parker?” Mr. Jameson loudly questions when Bucky says the name of Peter’s House. “I’ve seen his work.”

Before Bucky can say the he was the photographer of the interview they did so many months ago, Peter starts rambling again.

“Oh, well, I’m a big fan of Cap- Captain’s work,” he says. “And Lord Stark called me. That’s Lord Tony Stark, not Howard Stark. He thought I should take some photos for this.” Peter lifts his small, hand-held camera as if needing to show it for proof. “And if not for the House of Rogers, I--”

“Kid,” Tony interrupts, gesturing with his hand for him to simmer down. “Not now.”

“Oh. Right.” His cheeks flush. “Sorry, Lord Stark.”

Once all the eyes shift from Peter back to Bucky, he realizes this is now his showcase to host. He could use a drink. 

“I’ve asked everyone here today, because we all share a similar interest,” he says. Then turns an eye on Mr. Jameson. “Except maybe you. You want a story. And you’re going to get one.” Bucky gestures to the empty chair that’s been left so just for him. “Have a seat Mr. Jameson. I’m sure there are _lots_ of questions you have for me.” 

He does, of course. The amount of people in the room might change the type of game Mr. Jameson is playing, but he still knows how to play it. He rattles off questions, one after the other. 

When did you find out about Lord Rogers’s activities? _The night of Captain’s last exhibit. No, Mr. Jameson_ , Bucky tells him before any assumptions can be made. _I didn’t stumble upon it, my husband showed me on his own_. Did you ever feel pressured to keep your headship’s secret, Lord Barnes? _No, not at all_. _In fact, I was the one who convinced Steve to keep his art studio. He was going to get rid of it._ So, you were never afraid of what he might do to you? _What? Of course not. He’s my husband and he loves me and I trust him._

Mr. Jameson jots down Bucky’s answers on his notepad and scribbles whatever notes he might happen to add on his own. He keeps on going with similar questions, sometimes even the same one just asked in a slightly different way. Bucky’s careful to answer them all the with the same love and support for Steve, not letting the tactic trick him into changing the sentiment.

So far, the questions directed at Bucky have been only answerable by Bucky himself. Mr. Jameson, as if knowing this and has been doing it on purpose, has this tight sneer upon his thin lips. Until the last question that passed between them. Or almost did. 

“What was it like,” he starts, “being married to someone so--”

“Allow me to stop you right there,” Bucky interrupts. “Whatever insulting word you’re searching for to describe my husband, I’d ask you to refrain from using it. Because these past few months with Steve have been some of most uplifting months of my entire life.” From somewhere in the room, he can hear someone breathe out softly. His mother, he thinks. “I was married to Steve, as you know, not even four months after the death of my father.” 

Bucky winces, catching himself a second after he says that. He’s pushing -- stretching the limits of Society as far as he can. Too much can see a rubber band snap. The recoil leaving disaster in its wake. Steve may allow him to view his family as family still, but that’s not how Society sees them. 

He starts again. Slower. Softer. 

“I was married to Steve less than four months after the death of Lord Barnes. I was in a dark place.” Bucky turns his wedding ring, wondering if Steve’s ring brings him any comfort where he is. “It was Steve who helped me out of it. Not… not be force. He didn’t pull me out, he eased me. Made me want to.” Eyes closing, Bucky holds back tears. “That’s what it’s been like, Mr. Jameson. In a word, inspirational.” 

Someone in the room clears their throat just when Mr. Jameson opens his mouth to ask another question. 

“If I may.” Peggy. It’s Peggy. “I may not have married Lord Rogers as we once intended to, but I can tell you what it’s like having been friends with him since childhood.” She smiles. A fond smile, one Bucky’s sure he uses when thinking of Steve as well. “Steven Rogers is the most wonderful and loyal friend one could ever have.”

It’s Sam who speaks next. Speaks of Steve’s compassion and heart. Tony goes on to talk about how stubborn Steve is, and that as much of a mule as it might make him, he’ll also never give up on anyone. Both Bruce and Betty speak about how smart Steve is. How his art doesn’t negate his intelligence but may, in fact, simply be more proof of it. It’s Gabe who tells him about how hardworking and true Steve is. Pepper talks about Steve’s kindness and respect for everyone. Even Clint, who barely even knows Steve, has something to add, and goes on to say that Steve accepted his deafness and even learned to sign when he wasn’t obliged to in anyway. 

After those who know Steve personally have their chance to speak, the others take their turn. 

Natalia and Maria make it known that they’ve both spent time with Steve and Bucky and have no reason to suspect Steve as anything less than the gentleman that the House of Rogers has raised him to be. Lord Bradley says that after so many years of fighting for justice on the behalf of others, Steve deserves others to fight for him now. While neither Dr. Odinson nor Lady Foster know Steve personally, they both agree to trust the judgement of those who do.

And then Bucky’s mother speaks. He glances towards her, remembering a moment later that he shouldn’t pay her any extra attention than he did to anyone else. 

“Almost a year ago the House of Rogers agreed to take Lord Barnes into their House through an arrangement of marriage,” she begins. Quiet and proper just as a lady of Society should. “A dowry was paid on Lord Rogers’s behalf and since then he’s diligently paid the daily stipends owed to my House. Artist or not, he’s a responsible, trustworthy man.” 

Assuming she’s finished, and since everyone’s had a chance to speak on Steve’s behalf, Bucky opens his mouth. Only it would seem that his mother has something else to say.

“More importantly,” she adds. “Lord Rogers made a promise the day he married Lord Barnes. He promised he’d take care of him. And he has. Steve Rogers has taken care of him in ways that has made him into an even better person than he was before. I can say, without a doubt, as a member of the House of Barnes and the widow of George Barnes, that we’re proud of our son and stand with him and his husband.”

Unable to keep from looking over at her, Bucky whips his gaze towards his mother when she says that. His heart begins to glow so brightly he wonders if the others can see it. Son. She’s called him her son. Here, in front of all these people, on the record where it’ll be shared for everyone to read, she’s called Bucky her son even though he’s been married off to another House. 

And she’s proud of him. His mother is _proud_ of him and believes his _father_ would be proud of him, and Bucky needs a moment to run his fingers across his eyes before he can do anything else. 

“You see, Mr. Jameson,” Bucky murmurs, voice quiet and sweetly warmed. “I know you and other reporters would like nothing more than to question me on the horrors of what it was like living under the headship of a criminal.” 

With him, Bucky has one of Steve’s sketchbooks. One patrol officers and the Executive Bureau hasn’t gotten their hands on. He flips through it quickly. Looks at the beauty that Steve saw in the ordinary and poured upon the pages he holds now. 

“Yes, he’s committed fraud by distributing art while holding his position in Parliament. But what I’m here to tell you today is that I stand by my husband. Fully. Because he is a _good_ and _honest_ man.” Bucky gestures around the room. “And along with the House of Rogers, all the people here today are here to represent other Houses who _also_ stand with Lord Steven Rogers.” As Bucky takes the time to name them all again, each of them stands as if to confirm they are, in fact, here to show their Houses’ full support for Steve. “Now, I’m not asking anyone to turn their backs on all of Society’s traditions. All I ask, is that you think about what’s happening here and ask yourself if you really believe that it’s fair. Ask yourself, if the whole world turned their backs on someone you loved -- someone good and kind and fair -- wouldn’t you want someone, _anyone_ , to stand with you? Stand with them? I know our world isn’t always so kind to those in it, but Steve Rogers would stand with you. Maybe… maybe some of you out there can be brave enough to stand with him.” 

Eyebrows lifting, Mr. Jameson continues jotting down his notes and quoting Bucky’s statement, energetically dotting his notepad with a period when he’s done.

“Well, I must say…” He lifts his gaze and takes a deep breath. “Might not be the story I expected, but you and Lord Rogers sure know how to strike up a controversy, don’t you?” Mr. Jameson stands and adjusts his ascot. “This will make one hell of a story. Thank you, Lord Barnes.” After a quick, nonchalant thanks to the rest of them, he starts to leave. “Parker!” 

Peter, who’s been snapping away with his camera this whole time, starts at the shout of his name. He lowers his camera and turns towards the door.

“Y-yes, Mr. Jameson?”

Mr. Jameson gestures for him to follow. A bit of shock and uncertainty ripples across Peter’s face as he stumbles a bit over his feet to do so. 

“Let’s get those photos developed so we can get them in with this afternoon’s run of this article. And maybe I can find a place for you at the Bugle.”

“Really?” Peter asks as they leave. “A paying job?”

Mr. Jameson’s boisterous laugh echoes down the hall and back into the room as he and Peter leave. 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers when they’re gone. “All of you.” 

He’s staring at the doors, worried, for a moment, that maybe none of that actually happened and he’s still on the Mainland in the house Joseph rented feeling lost and helpless while Steve rots away in that Institute so close yet so far from Bucky’s reach. While Steve is still out of his reach, at least Bucky’s done… _something_ that might help him. 

Maybe now Lord Pierce will see that Steve is not alone. He’s not been isolated and cut off from everyone he loves, from a world that might see him and those he fights for treated fairly. 

Bucky turns to face the room as a sense of numbness falls upon him. He’s not quite sure what he feels right now. Accomplished isn’t the right word -- it’s much too strong -- but he thought he’d feel more than this. All these people are here, they’ve shown their support for Steve at great risk to themselves and to their Houses. Even his own mother has broken tradition in favor of supporting them.

Perhaps there’s something wrong with him. Ever since being separated from Steve like this it does feel as though there’s something missing. A piece of him was taken the same day Steve was -- ripped off to leave him incomplete and in constant longing for what he’s lost. 

People in the room begin to shift about. Whispers and murmurs breathe across Bucky’s ears as they exchange words with one another. Some of them say goodbye and leave. Dr. Odinson gives Bucky a hearty clap on the shoulder and Lord Bradley says something that Bucky’s mind doesn’t quite register. He wants so badly to thank them again for doing this, but the words aren’t forming. 

“Bucky?” Natalia steps forward. Brushes her knuckles across the rough stubble of Bucky’s cheek. “You look like you could use a good sleep. Why don’t you lay down? I’m sure the staff wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I have no time. I’m supposed to take the next train back out to the Mainland.”

“James,” Winifred says. “I’m sure Lord Rogers wouldn’t mind if you took--”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head again. Firmly. “I can’t be away any longer.” He rubs his hands over his face. Tries to feel again. When he lowers then again, Bucky’s eyes wander towards Sam and Maria. They’re sitting side by side, fingers locked. A twitch of a smile touches Bucky’s lips. At least he can still feel something. “I’m happy for you both.”

They exchange smiles, and Bucky’s known Maria long enough to know that the way she looks at Sam now means something. She doesn’t let just anyone into her life. Sam, it seems, has been let into her heart. And Sam, Bucky’s gotten to know well enough during his months married to Steve, that her heart is in good hands. 

“Bucky?” Peggy asks. “Is he…” Her breath catches and Gabe puts a hand soft at the small of her back. “Have you seen him?”

Bucky shakes his head, slowly. It aches him to do so. Right here, in this room with him, are some of the people who love Steve the most, and he can’t give them anything. 

“No,” he mutters. “They won’t let me see him. Joseph has.”

“And?” Sam presses. 

Bucky shrugs. “There isn’t much to tell, Sam.”

“There wouldn’t be.” Bruce supplies them with the details Bucky’s lacking. “Those place keep people subdued and heavily medicated. The fact that he’s in a privately run Institute offers only a small comfort.” 

They don’t say much of anything about it after that. What is there to say? Bucky knows they’re all hurting, too. All of them want to help and have now done the only thing they can. The only thing they can do now is sit back and wait and hope. Hope that it does a bit of good.

Since Bucky promised himself he’d have something to eat before he leaves, he asks all of them to stay for a light brunch and coffee and tea. The House of Rogers’s staff is brilliantly accommodating and have everything ready within minutes. With the exception of Bruce and Betty -- who leave for work -- everyone joins him, and even if it isn’t much, Bucky is able to eat some cucumber sandwich slices and drink a cup of tea. Both Natalia and his mother attempt at getting him to stay longer and sleep a while before he leaves for the station. Bucky denies the request again. He’s been gone too long as it is. What if Steve knows he’s not there today? Bucky can’t bare the thought. 

“I really must be going.” Bucky pushes away from the table. “I can try to sleep a bit on the ride back.” He looks at his mother. “I promise.” 

“You’re no help to your husband sick, James,” she says as she rises and gently presses a kiss to his cheek. Winifred holds his cheek close to her face for a moment to whisper, “He’d be so proud of you, Bucky. Your father. So proud.” 

For the second time today, Bucky needs to smother down the burning rush of tears for such a thing. He squeezes his eyes closed and pecks a kiss on his mother’s cheek. 

“Thank you, Mother,” he says. “You’ll… you’ll tell Rebecca I said hello, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will.” 

Bucky asks Frances if she wouldn’t mind phoning for a taxi for him, but before he can even finish asking, Tony, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since they spoke about Steve, is interrupting. 

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “Our drive will take you anywhere you need to go.” Tony pauses and, Bucky thinks, looks unsure about that. He takes a glimpse at Pepper, his headship. “Right?”

Pepper smiles softly, understanding even, of Tony’s strange silence, and puts her hand on his wrist. 

“Of course,” she agrees. “Our motorcar is right out front. You’re more than welcome to its use.”

From across the table, Clint signs “ _Try to get some rest, buddy. You need it”_. 

“I know,” he says, voice and hands. “I will.” He means try. Bucky doesn’t know how well it will work. “Thank you so much,” Bucky says again. “You don’t know how much this means to me, what it would mean to Steve.”

“Steve needs our help,” Sam says. “There’s no better reason to force the world to change.”

Everyone around the table must agree since they nod and smile, and Bucky couldn’t be more grateful for the people he’s been blessed to have in his life. 

“Talia?” Bucky whispers a few minutes later when they’re at the door saying their farewells. “You still have that… thing, right?”

Natalia doesn’t need him to explain. The film reel. The one she and Sam obtained of Lord Pierce and Brock when Steve was ill. On it, is incriminating evidence against both of them.

She nods. “I do, but, James…”

Unfortunately, it also contains Bucky admitting to committing treason against his new House. But, well, _from sacrifice comes glory_. Steve has allowed Bucky to be true to his roots while also letting him sprout wings and helping him to soar to new heights. He’s allowed him to live by the House of Barnes’s creed as well as his new one -- the proof is on his arm. Where two crests form one.

“Just…” Bucky kisses her cheek. “Just keep it close, okay? I have a feeling I might need it soon.” 

***

It happens gradually. With a few stranger than usual glances in Bucky’s direction at the train station the same day the article printed. Then suddenly. With letters forwarded from the House of Rogers’s building on the Isle to the rented house on the Mainland. Words of support and hope for Steve. 

The evening Bucky got back to the house, he found Joseph sitting at the table with the newspaper extra sitting on it. Bucky’d gotten himself a copy from a young boy selling them at the station and read it on the carriage ride back to the house. It read just like he’d hoped -- Jonah Jameson didn’t need to twist anything to stir up controversy -- with photos of all those present to accompany it. But Joseph hadn’t commented on it when Bucky got in. He just sat at the table, eyes on the paper while Bucky stood there, heart pounding as he waited and hoped for some sign of approval. 

“He was no different today,” Joseph finally said after several minutes of dripping silence. He closed the paper and stepped away from the table. “You didn’t miss anything.” Making his way out of the kitchen, Bucky was sure Joseph would pass by him without saying a word about the interview he chose to have without his permission. But he paused a few feet behind him. “Sarah,” he said softly, “would have loved this.” 

It was all he said on the matter, and the day the first letter came in the post, he called Bucky in and just handed it to him with a grin. 

People have started coming up to him while Joseph goes to see Steve. Most of them just smile, but some of them have come up to him to shake his hand. Thank him for having the courage to stand up for Steve and take a stance against the traditions that have sentenced so many to keep quiet for so long. 

Some people have even written in to papers to publicly support Steve. The House Xavier -- whose son, Charlie, Bucky’s been working with for months -- made a public appearance at City Hall itself to declare their support for both Steve and the Tolerance and Acceptance Act. Charlie, in his wheelchair, had been there with them, smiling hugely. Proudly, even. As far as Bucky could see in the photos in the papers.

“Our son, who was injured last year and paralyzed from the waist down because of it,” Lady Xavier stated. “Is no longer seen as a contributing member of the world, simply because he’s lost the use of his legs. His mind is still in perfect working order and yet, unless my spouse and I continue with the arrangement of his marriage with a House higher than our own, his place in Society is forfeit. Lord Xavier and I will be losing our son because of what the _world_ thinks of him. I’ve watched the Lord James Barnes help my son heal and my House will stand by him and his headship now. We’re putting our faith in the Courts that the Tolerance and Acceptance Act will be passed and my son will be treated with the respect and dignity he deserves.”

Of course, there’s the backlash. The angry press insisting that Bucky and everyone involved with the original interview are mere rebels intending to destroy the very foundation that the world has stood upon for so long. _Rip the fabric of Society at the seams_ , is the phrase Bucky’s read most often. Where will we be without any structure, traditionalists seem to fall back on the most, as if adjusting and allowing for change will suddenly bring about a downfall and collapse of civilization. 

There’s been angry protests. People so determined to silence those seeking to see this change go through that they’ll go to City Hall just to block those who have come out in support of Steve and the proposed bill. 

Though the letters being forwarded to them have all been positive and hopeful, Bucky can only imagine the sort of drivel and hurtful things that haven’t been sent their way. Ever since the interview was printed, Lord Howard Stark has hired security to stand guard in front of the House of Rogers’s property. Through talking with Sam and Peggy, Bucky’s learned that Tony’s done the same for their home. Bucky’s infinitely grateful. He has no idea if Truvie or Stiles or any of the other staff is even there, but if they are, he’s glad they’ll be kept safe. 

“Have they been out there? Protesters?” He bit down on his tongue on purpose, tried to get it to make the words he needed. “At our homes, I mean?” Bucky asked Sam one late night when he snuck use of the telephone after Joseph had gone to bed. Not that he’d deny Bucky permission it’s just… Bucky doesn’t really want to ask for it. 

“They’ve…” Sam hesitated. “They’ve backed off.”

Bucky sighed and clutched at the earpiece of the phone. “And you’re safe? You and everyone else?”

“We made our choice,” Sam said. “A few threats from closed-minded traditionalists aren’t going to scare us away from it. This isn’t just for Steve anymore. The world needs to change, and like Sarah Rogers said that starts with us.” 

Sarah, yes. This was her dream. To see the changes she yearned for finally being accepted. And now people are fighting for them. More and more everyday, even while meeting the angry, sometimes hateful resistance of those who refuse to see anything wrong with the way the world works now. 

Things have changed at the Institute as well. It’s slight but noticeable. The nurse with the brogue, for instance, though she still keeps her nose up whenever she even glances in Bucky’s direction, she no longer snaps at him when he’s there. Though Bucky’s still not allowed past the front parlor, he has been on the grounds a few times. 

In the four weeks since first meeting the kind nurse, Claire, she’s gestured for him to follow him exactly three more times. And each time, it’s been to tell him the same thing. That Lord Pierce has been in to see Steve. 

“They’re keeping him on much heavier medications now,” she tells him. Which Joseph has already suspected anyway. “They lower them just before Lord Pierce comes to visit.”

Two months Steve’s been taken from him, and Alexander Pierce has seen him more than Bucky has. Has probably talked with him, been close enough to touch him, though, have mercy on him if he’s even tried to. 

“If they’re lowering the medications,” Joseph told him after Bucky shared the new information. “That must mean they want him sound enough for something.”

The _for something_ is what they haven’t been able to figure out. 

As to be expected, Alexander Pierce has taken a firm stance against anyone who dares to oppose the hierarchy that’s supported Society for so long. And yet, in a smooth, stroke of charismatic genius, has also condemned anyone resorting to violence or senseless threats. 

Today’s newspaper, which trembles in Bucky’s hands as he reads it before leaving for the Institute with Joseph, has held his boldest quote yet. 

“These are matters that always have been and will be again solved in the Courts,” he says. “This is what happens when we yank out the bricks that have always held us together. This is what these liberal minds forget to think about when they decide they’re going to demolish what’s always worked -- what doesn’t _need_ to be changed. But we cannot let them destroy us and _we_ cannot let them turn us into animals. We are better than that. We are better than them. Our traditions and values will not be upheaved by the unruly voices of but a few. Our day to be heard in the Courts is upon us and I have the utmost faith that we will prevail and shut these liberals down once and for all.” 

Tempted to pull out his lighter and burn the paper to ash, Bucky holds back in favor of tossing it to the floor instead. That man’s arrogance and superiority make his skin crawl. 

“Three days in a row,” he mumbles when Joseph comes to join him at the table, stepping over the scattered paper without comment. “Claire said he came to see Steve _three_ days in a row and hasn’t come back since. And now _that_.”

Joseph sighs. “He won’t be back today either. We know that.”

No, he won’t. Today, Alexander will have his day in the Courts, as promised. Today, they’ll be voting on The Tolerance and Acceptance Act. While there are others who have worked with Sarah and Joseph to see it get this far, the fact that neither of them are there today just about breaks Bucky’s heart. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to go now?” Bucky asks. “I can… Steve won’t… I mean…”

What Bucky means is, Sarah and him worked so hard for this, one of them should be there right away. What he means is, he can still go to the Institute even if they won’t let him in. What he means is, Steve would understand. 

“It won’t make a difference,” he reminds him. “I’m in mourning and not allowed to participate in the hearing anyway.”

There’s someone else from the Judiciary Bureau standing in support of the bill during the hearing today. A woman by the name of Jennifer from the House of Walters. Joseph says he has faith in her ability to represent the bill the way it needs to be. Still, it leaves Bucky with an upset stomach and a headache and a lump in his throat. 

After their morning visit with Steve -- or Joseph’s visit with Steve and Bucky’s daily sit in the front parlor -- they’ve decided to take a train back to the Isle and hope to make it in time to at least sit in during the hearing. It’s open to the public, well, to High Society anyway, those who wish to view, and now that Bucky’s interview has drawn so much attention to it, attendance is sure to be high. 

Comments have been made, of course, about neither of them being present for all this controversy, Bucky in particular. For causing such a stir and then not even being around for the finale. Lord Pierce has been quoted several times wondering if this was all just a publicity stunt. That Bucky’s, so-called, disappearing act was nothing more a desperate plea for attention from a man so used to the spotlight. 

Traditionalists, still, keep conveniently leaving out the part about Bucky sticking diligently by Steve’s side. _Society has prepared me for you, and so I will ever strengthen, help, comfort, and encourage you._ As far as they _should_ be concerned, Bucky’s simply following the vows he made on the day he married Steve. He’s being a _good_ spouse to his headship. Funny how they no longer see it that way. 

They’re quiet throughout all of breakfast and the drive to the Institute. Not that they’ve ever been very chatty, but they’ve managed to fill most of the two months together with at least some sort of conversation. It’s not like with Sarah, who could pull someone into a conversation as natural as breathing. Who could ease the tension out of the room with a carefully placed and tasteful joke. Who, if Bucky misses this much, he can only imagine how much Steve and Joseph do. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Joseph says as they walk up the path towards the doors of the Institute together. “I haven’t been a proper Head of the Household. Sarah was always much better at socializing than I was. She…” He sighs. “She’d’ve handled all of this much better. I’m very glad that Steve inherited her personality.”

Bucky smiles softly. “I believe Steve inherited both your personalities.” 

“That’s very kind of you.” Joseph adds a soft touch to Bucky’s back. “Still, you have my apologies.”

“You’ve been nothing but kind and patient with me,” Bucky says. “In the face of everything that’s happened, I can’t imagine anyone’s behavior being as considerate as yours. Except for maybe Steve’s.” He claps his hand down on Joseph’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll get through this. As a… a family, right?”

“A family,” he muses. And then nods. “Whatever happens today, Bucky,” Joseph says as they enter the Institute. “I’m very glad my son married you.” 

Before the remark even has a chance to whisper kindly along Bucky’s bones, it dries up and withers away as soon as the door closes behind them. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

Instead of greeting them like normal, the nurse behind the front desk takes one quick look at them, then ducks her head down before hurrying away. A few other members of the staff who happened to have been entering the front parlor stop in their tracks and stare at them, as though Lord Rogers and Lord Barnes coming in today is the very last thing they expected when, after nearly eight straight weeks of the same thing, it should be routine by now. 

“No, not today.” 

They both turn towards the sound of the stern, irritating voice as the nurse with the brogue comes in from a back room. She’s shaking her head at Joseph and doesn’t even bother looking at Bucky.

“Not today?” Joseph asks. “What do you mean?”

She stays on the other side of the counter. Keeps her eyes hard and jaw tight. 

“Doctor’s orders, I’m afraid,” she says, and no doubt doesn’t have any real concerns about delivering this news. “Lord Rogers isn’t to have any visitors today.”

“Excuse me?” Joseph steps up to the counter. “What do you mean he can’t have any visitors?”

“M’sorry, m’Lord.” She’s already walking away without a care. “I’m simply--”

“Bullshit!” Joseph slams both his hands down on the counter between him and the nurse. “You cannot keep me from seeing my son now!” 

Everyone in the front parlor stops as Joseph continues to shout and demand to be let through to see Steve. Even Bucky, who can hardly blame him for such a reaction, is shocked. Throughout all these months of knowing him, even through all of this, Joseph has been a model of self-poise and control in public. 

“M’sorry, m’Lord,” the nurse replies over Joseph’s shouts. “But you won’t be gettin’ into see anyone today. The patient has been sedated for his own protection after he became belligerent and violent.”

“No.” Bucky moves up now. Stands right next to Joseph. “Steve wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“You’d be surprised, Lord Barnes,” she says, “what some people are capable of when their minds are so damaged.” 

Anger clamps its jaws tightly into Bucky’s heart, sharp teeth piercing through slowly weakening armor. His fingers curl, nails sticking into his palms. Every part of him screams at once. The same thing. One resounding thought that echoes through his soul.

“My _husband_ ,” he growls, “is not _damaged_.” 

“Really?” A sneer curls up on the nurse’s mouth. Cruel and vindictive. “Then why is he here?” 

“He’s not.” 

They all turn towards the sound of her voice, softly carried by angel wings despite the firm hardness to it. 

“Claire…” Bucky whispers. “Claire, what’s going on?”

She opens her mouth to answer, only it’s not Claire who gets to respond first. 

“ _Nurse_ Temple,” the other nurse growls. “If you value your position here--”

“I _value_ people’s _lives_ ,” Claire shoots back at her. “Unlike _you_ , I’m here to help people. To make a _difference_. Lord Rogers will make a difference, and I will not let people like you or high standing traditionalists intimidate me into staying quiet.” To Joseph, she says, “Your son left about an hour ago. He was escorted by Lord Pierce and Dr. Faustus.”

Ice runs through Bucky’s veins, his whole body going cold. A shiver crawls across up his spine as the breath is punched from his lungs. 

“Wha--why?” he whispers. “Why would--”

“We have to go,” Joseph interrupts, already tugging on the sleeve of Bucky’s cutaway coat. “We have to go _now_.” He quickly puts his top hat back on and tips it towards Claire. “Ma’am. Thank you. Thank you very much. Come, Bucky, we have to hurry.” 

“I… but what’s…” Bucky looks back at Claire, who’s already being chastised by the other nurse. “Claire, I…”

“Go on,” she says, seemingly uninterested in what her superior has to say. “Good luck.”

Bucky nods and rushes off to follow Joseph. He’s silent as he hurries and leads Bucky off the grounds, back to the motorcar that brought them there. Bucky’s even a little breathless when the driver shuts the door behind him while he gets settled in the back seat of the cabin. 

“What is it?” Bucky asks. “What’s happening?”

“We need to get back to the Isle. To City Hall.”

Confusion skitters along Bucky’s bones. As far as he knew, they’d already been planning to do that anyway. 

“Okay? But what’s happening to Steve? Why would--”

“That’s what Alexander Pierce wanted.” He huffs and hits his hand on the seat. “I should’ve seen this coming. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking straight.” Joseph gets out a dark, unamused chuckle. “Of course I wasn’t. This is just what he wanted, that son of a bitch.”

“What?” Bucky asks. “What did he want? What’s going on?”

Joseph, who’s been holding his head in his hands, looks up. “He’s going to use Steve in the hearing today.”

“Use him?” That doesn’t make any sense. Steve has been a supporter of the bill from the beginning. “How?”

“Lord Pierce is going to use him as an example of why Sarah’s ideas are foolhardy.” Joseph sighs. His eyes flick to Bucky. “He’ll make Steve testify against it.” 

“No.” All of Bucky’s mind and heart protests the very idea that that would ever happen. “Steve would never. It’s impossible.”

“It’s the only reason to bring him,” Joseph replies. “I know Alexander Pierce. He wouldn’t chance bringing Steve unless he was certain that there was no way Steve would speak _for_ the bill. He’s not going to have him sitting in a chair drooling all over himself, so Steve’ll be of sound mind.” He shakes his head. “More than what he has been anyway. Whatever he has planned, it includes having Steve being able to speak and the only thing he’ll want him saying is things _against_ the Tolerance and Acceptance Act.”

None of this makes any sense. There’s nothing that Alexander Pierce could do to Steve that would make him speak out against his mother’s proposed bill. Steve would take all the poison and all the weight of the world before doing that. 

“No,” Bucky says again. Disbelief floating through the fog of his mind as he tries to wrap his head around this. “He’d… there’s no way Lord Pierce could get him to do that. Nothing would make Steve speak against it.” 

Joseph turns to look at him, a strange, shadow of an expression spreading across his face. There’s a tinge of sadness there, but something else. Something more. Acceptance, maybe. Like whatever it is he that’s he’s figured out before Bucky, is as natural as the sun coming out after a storm. 

“Can you think of nothing, Bucky? Really?” 

For a long moment, Bucky thinks on that. Joseph seems so sure of something, of the one thing that would make Steve lie to the Courts for Alexander Pierce. He tugs at threads of ideas, each of them falling apart like the thin silk of a spider’s web. Sticky and stringy, but never enough strength to hold onto his thoughts for very long. Until one gets tangled and wrapped up, unable to free itself no matter how unbelievable it is. 

“You don’t…” It’s absurd. Completely. And yet here is Bucky, saying it. “You don’t mean… me? Do you? You… you can’t…”

Eyebrows lifting, Joseph shakes his head. “Can you really deny it? It’s not beyond a man like Alexander Pierce to threaten you to coerce Steve into doing what he needs.”

_Please_ , Bucky pleads with his stomach as it folds and turns. _Don’t get ill here_.

_It can’t be true_ , his stomach insists. _No. Steve won’t. He can’t_.

“No,” Bucky whispers.

“No?”

“Sarah’s bill? Everything she worked for? All those people? I’m not… worth… any of that.” Bucky shakes his head. Tears burning his eyes. “I can’t be worth all that to him.” 

“Oh, Bucky,” Joseph murmurs with a slight shake of his head. One Bucky can barely see through all the spinning. “You don’t know your husband very well at all, do you?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there, I swear. First of all, thank you so much for your amazing and wonderful patience while I worked on this and my profound apologies for ending up taking so long with it. But thank you so much for sticking around!
> 
> And, as always, here's some gifs to cap off the chapter! 
> 
> Starting with Bucky at the beginning of the chapter sitting in the front parlor 
> 
> Here we have Bucky getting to the House of Rogers's home and just be tired and nervous and stressed 
> 
> And at any point really during the interview 
> 
> New character alert. The wonderful, kickass Claire Temple asking Bucky to come outside with her 
> 
> and finally Claire during one of her talks with Bucky 
> 
> Okay well, that's one chapter down. In just another day or so I'll post the next! Thank you so much for reading and just all your amazing support during all of this!


	34. Oh gosh... here we go...

The thought leaves Bucky cold and nauseous the whole trip back to the Isle. The trip which, he swears, everything takes longer. The motorcar crawls the dirt roads to the train station. The train runs slower than ever before. The crowds are thicker.

All it does is keep them both from getting there at a reasonable time -- even if the delay is all in Bucky’s mind -- and leaves Bucky to dwell in this new and profound guilt. First, his good intentions paved this path the hell and now he’s stumbling towards the fires with no way to stop it.

He knows he’d do the same for Steve -- Bucky would _crawl_ across broken glass and fire for Steve -- but the idea of Steve giving up anything, least of all, all this, for him is just… it feels so wrong. 

By the time they make it to City Hall, there are already people going in. Patrol officers line the streets, readying themselves for any crowds that might show up. The walk up the front steps is long and grueling, and Bucky can feel the eyes of everyone there staring at him as he makes the climb. 

Inside the courtroom is even worse. The dark walls and floors and ceilings. Even with the huge chandelier -- a glowing, twisted spider dangling above the unsuspecting. The room is imposing, as though it’s getting ready to swallow anyone who crosses its path. Up in front, the curved judge’s bench looms over everything, the witness box mostly, where witnesses are questioned and heard. Bucky can just picture Alexander Pierce stepping away from the thick, heavy tables below the bench to strike doubt in even the witnesses themselves with his carefully placed words and staggering arrogance. 

The glands in Bucky’s throat swell. Not only will Alexander Pierce probably force Steve up there today, but Bucky’s own father was there. When the Military Bureau blamed George Barnes as the one solely responsible for the money they lost on the investment he signed with Hammer Tech, he faced the consequences on his own. He stood up in front of the Courts, was accused of being unworthy of his position and forced to defend his honor. And lost. 

Murmurs rise through the courtroom as it fills up with people. Bucky barely even notices as he sits there in the front row of the gallery waiting for all this to just start. The chair is mean and uncomfortable. Taunting even. If this one is so cruel, Bucky can’t imagine what it’s like to be on the other side of the swinging gates. 

The first noise that truly gets his attention is the loud creaking sounds of the heavy doors at the front of the room being heaved open. Through it, comes a young, bespectacled woman in a green, velvet tailcoat with her soft, light brown hair hanging loosely down by her shoulders. 

The second she walks in, Joseph is standing and discreetly waving for her attention. That must be Jennifer from the House of Walters, and she comes over to Joseph as soon as she notices him. Joseph whispers something quick and fast, presumably what he thinks is going to happen with Steve. Bucky never really gets the chance to find out since Lady Walters moves away seconds later to go sit at the tables below the benches. Just in time, too. 

As soon as she’s seated the door opens again and Lord Pierce comes walking in. Moves with an air of privileged confidence as he glides across the courtroom dressed in his finest. The opposite of Lady Walters, who, proudly wearing those bold colors and her hair down, Bucky can see why Joseph chose her to represent his wife’s bill. 

While Lady Walters goes over paperwork, Lord Pierce just sits there, fingers laced upon the table and a small sneer curved up on his mouth. He’s so sure of his victory he does nothing while he waits other than soaking in the world around him. 

Rage descends upon Bucky like a sudden cloudburst. Intense and strong and so completely that Bucky almost forgets himself and marches over there, longing with every fiber of his being to knock that smug look off Alexander’s face. His left hand curls into a tight fist, metal slats overlapping and making a furious _hiss_ as he squeezes. 

_Do it,_ his fist requests. _It’ll feel great_.

_No_ , the rest of his arm argues. _It’ll only make things worse_.

Bucky lets his right hand slip over trembling metal. Just as he sucks in a rough breath through flared nostrils, the entire room is told to rise, and the three judges proceeding over today’s hearing step up to the bench. Judges Rhodes, Stern, and Fury take the stand and tell everyone to be seated again. 

It’s Judge Fury who begins.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Let it show for the record that we’re convening today to hear testimony both for and against the proposed bill, so named The Tolerance and Acceptance Act designed by the late Lady Sarah Rogers.” He pauses briefly and flips open a folder in front of him. “A decision to pass or reject the bill will be rendered after both sides are heard. Court is now in session.”

“Arguing on the side for the Tolerance and Acceptance Act,” Judge Rhodes states. “From the House of Walters, Lady Jennifer Walters.” She stands the second he says her name. Shoulders squared and chin lifted, she gently eases her glasses back up her nose. “Lady Walters, you may begin when ready.” 

She’s good. Not as good as Sarah was, but good. Within minutes of her opening statement, Bucky’s pulled to the edge of his seat. Lady Walters speaks of the good inside people that so many traditions and restrictions force them to hold back. 

“It’s a time for a change,” she says. “The system in place is no longer the system that works,” she says. “Just because it favors some does not mean it works for all,” she says. “We, in this city, as members of Society, can do better.” 

When she’s finished, nearly twenty minutes later, she’s thanked by the judges and Bucky has to fight back the urge to clap. Though he’s never really been a praying man, he has, on occasion, found use for it. Right now, he prays that, wherever she is, Sarah is proud.

The good, hopeful feeling -- the idea that maybe, just maybe there’s a really good chance Lady Walters might get this bill passed today -- shrivels and dries, an oasis completely sucked away by the cruel, unyielding heat when Judge Stern speaks.

“And now,” he starts. And now that he straightens, Bucky realizes he’d been slightly inclined during Lady Walters’s entire speech. “We’ll hear the opening statement from the representation of those in opposition of the Tolerance and Acceptance Act. From the prestigious House of Pierce, Lord Alexander Pierce.” 

“Thank you, your honors,” he says as he stands. “I hope that by the time we’re through today, we can officially put this matter to rest once and for all.” 

It’s nothing Bucky’s never heard before. The same things he’s been saying since all this started. Probably even before this began. Bucky just never had any real reason to pay attention, and regret slips between his ribs like a carefully placed blade meant to maim but not kill. To leave Bucky with disfiguring scars, the knowledge that, at one time, these were matters that he did not concern himself with. How blind he had been. How naive. Perhaps his involvement now is enough to right that wrong. He can hope.

Surprisingly, as long winded and garrulous as Alexander usually gets, he keeps his opening statement short, and within five minutes is sitting back down. 

With their opening statements done, Judge Fury invites them both to step up to the podiums directly in front of the bench where they’ll present their arguments.

The procedure goes on for hours. An endless back and forth of questions and answers and rehashing the details of what will and won’t ever work and why Society is the way it is. Though Lady Walters is good, Bucky might even dare to say great, Alexander, just as he remembers, is better. 

It’s only slight, not by much, but if Bucky can feel it, then surely the judges must, too. 

A few well-placed words, an unexpected question or two, a tiny speck of doubt -- Alexander’s age, power, and experience combined is enough to trick up Lady Walters more than once into losing a bit of her composure. 

It slips. She stammers and stutters. Loses her words and needs to start again. She backtracks a few times. Needs a few moments to gather her thoughts. 

There are a few times Bucky even catches himself starting to grow angry with her, before remembering how it felt being face to face with Alexander Pierce, knowing the poison of his words and just how quickly they infect. And though she might not be Sarah, whose temper may have been quick as a flame but here, in a courtroom would have been unflinching, Lady Walters is still quick to regain any composure that slips. It’s not her fault that no matter what she hits Alexander with -- no point, no perfect example, no recorded account -- does nothing to affect him in any way. 

No matter what she says, no matter what argument she makes, it’s always as though she’s said nothing at all. 

Even hours later, after nothing more than a ten minute recess to rest their legs and backs, Lady Walters and Lord Pierce are still at those same podiums, and he’s still maintained that same air of arrogant confidence he walked in with. While Lady Walters’s hasn’t dissipated, the day has begun to wear upon her. 

“He hasn’t mentioned, Steve,” Bucky whispers to Joseph. 

It’s a risk. Silence is to be maintained throughout the courtroom, but after six hours of this Bucky just needs to bring it up. Steve hasn’t been brought up. Not once, and Bucky’s beginning to wonder if maybe Joseph had been mistaken this morning. 

But Joseph doesn’t chance giving him an answer. He simply sighs, the day wearing him even more than Lady Walters, it seems, and leans forward. 

After another hour, they finally seem ready to deliver their closing arguments. Lady Walters keeps her short and sweet. Insisting, again, that these are the times for change. That, “The people themselves have spoken and not only have they _asked_ for change, they’ve _demanded_ it.” 

“Thank you, Lady Walters,” Judge Fury says as she finally takes her seat after seven long hours of standing. “Your presentation today has been most riveting and thought provoking.” 

“I can say,” Judge Rhodes follows up. “Without a doubt, that today’s decision will not be entered into lightly.”

Of course, it’s Judge Stern that slices through whatever bit of hope the judges’ words provide. 

“And now,” he states. “We’ll hear Lord Pierce’s final statement.”

Alexander Pierce laces his fingers and places his hands upon the podium he stands in front of. 

“Actually,” he says. “I wish to waive my right to a final statement in favor of allowing someone with firsthand experience of just _why_ this bill cannot be passed.” 

“Your honors.” Lady Walters stands again as she addresses the judges. “I must object. How can we truly be sure of this person’s credibility? This is Lord Pierce’s--”

“I’m very sure,” Lord Pierce interrupts, a sneer growing on his lips. “That you’ll find this testimony to be _more_ than satisfactory.”

This must be it then. Alexander’s ace up his sleeve -- the moment he’s been waiting for with vulgar excitement. 

A pit pulls at Bucky’s stomach. Twisting and turning, a endless, hollow hole while the judges take a moment to confer with one another.

“If Lord Pierce wishes to defer his final statement to someone else,” Judge Fury comes back with after that moment. “That is within his rights.” Lady Walters opens her mouth, perhaps to protest again, only Judge Fury gestures for Alexander to go on. “Lord Pierce, you may proceed.” 

There’s a defeated slump to Lady Walters’s shoulders as she sits back down and Alexander smirks.

“Thank you, your honors.”

He lifts his hand and a court patrol officer by the door in the front of the room opens it. The hand upon Bucky’s arm -- Joseph, he assumes, though he never actually confirms it by looking -- is the only thing that keeps him from leaping out of his seat.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, a fresh round of heartbroken tears rushing to his eyes. “Steve…”

He doesn’t look as bad as Bucky expected, but he’s… not right. Steve’s been dressed in formal wear, but not in any of his own clothes. They don’t fit around his body right. His hair is longer. Brushed. Not neat, the way Steve would do it should he ever decide to grow it like that, but still brushed. There’s facial hair all along his cheeks and chin. It’s not like the way he let it grow during Christmastide. In fact, it looks as though it was much longer and just cut off to make him appear more presentable. And he’s thinner. Much thinner. Steve’s cheeks are sunken and there’re dark circles under his eyes and he’s so very pale. 

There’s a collective gasp and hushed conversations that break out immediately when they all get a look at who’s coming into the courtroom. Steve glares at the ground as he’s escorted in with his hands shackled in front of him by Brock of all people, though, to be honest, Bucky probably shouldn’t be all that surprised. 

“What is this?” Judge Rhodes asks as Brock shoves Steve into the seat nearest to Alexander. “What’s going on?”

“Your honors,” Alexander says. “Lord Steven Rogers has come here today to recant his previous opinion on the bill his own mother had proposed. And I think we can all agree that, given his _recent_ experiences, his testimony is rather significant on the matter.” 

Lady Walters stands again. “Your honors, please. This can’t--”

“If Lord Rogers, someone who’s been very outspoken on these matters,” Judge Stern interrupts, “wishes to speak here today and give an entirely different viewpoint, then I believe it is the duty of this court to hear it.” 

Though Judge Stern never takes his eyes off of Steve, who has yet to even raise his head, Judges Fury and Rhodes exchange a glance. 

“Lord Rogers,” Judge Fury says. The sound of his name directed at him sees Steve snapping his head up. It takes him a second, but Steve gets to his feet so he can address the Court. Even from where he sits, Bucky can tell he’s giving the judges all his attention now. “You have gone on record, many times in the past, stating your full support of the Tolerance and Acceptance Act.” Steve is nodding along with the statement. “It is our understanding that you now wish to withdraw that support?” 

There’s a pause, obviously meant for Steve’s answer, but in that brief moment of silence, a crack, rough and jagged and painful, runs right down the center of Bucky’s heart. Steve can’t do this, he just can’t. It makes no sense. This is the world they’re talking about, people that Steve and his mother have been fighting to help for years. Bucky’s just one person. He can’t possibly be worth all this to Steve. 

But Steve opens his mouth to answer. Says something much too mumbled for anyone to hear clearly. Alexander leans in and whatever he says to him makes Steve jerk back as though slapped or insulted. There’re daggers in Steve’s eyes, and for one shining moment, Bucky thinks he might actually punch the man who’s backed him into this corner. He doesn’t, and instead, Steve faces the bench again.

“Yes.” Steve pushes his answer out through clenched teeth and the crack in Bucky’s heart rips it in two. “Yes, your Honors.”

While Judges Fury and Rhodes exchange another concerned look, Judge Stern simply sits up straight and grins. 

“Then, once again for the record, Lord Rogers,” he says. “You’re officially withdrawing your support for the Tolerance and Acceptance Act? The bill that your mother proposed?” 

Sucking in a deep, angry breath through flared nostrils, Steve growls, “ _Yes_. I withdraw my support for--”

“No!” someone interrupts, a voice bursting through the courtroom like a supernova, bright and powerful and unrelenting. “No, he doesn’t!” 

One of the judges, Bucky doesn’t see who, is smacking his gavel down and crying out for order, since the entire courtroom has erupted into a sea of shocked murmurs. As that judge tries to regain control of the room and does, the room beginning to fall silent once again, each and every pair of eyes fall upon Bucky, his heart leaping up to his throat as he realizes, with his painful twist to his gut, that the outburst came from him. 

His eyes lift. To Steve’s. For the first time in over two months, they look upon one another. There’re hot tears in Bucky’s eyes. Tears in Steve’s as well. And they both shake their heads.

“You can’t do this, Steve,” Bucky says. “I won’t let you.”

“Bucky…” 

The sound of his name coming from Steve sends a wave of bliss crashing over him. For a second, Bucky almost drowns in it. Even here. At the edge of hell. 

“Lord Barnes,” Judge Stern says. “If you can’t control yourself--”

“This is _wrong_ ,” Bucky growls, rising from his seat and staring at the judges. “Can’t you… can’t you _see_ that?”

“Lord Barnes,” Judge Fury says at the same time that Joseph tries to get him to sit back down. “I’m going to have to ask that you please remain in your seat if you wish to--”

“No, but…” A tremble runs through his body. He has to make them see. He can’t let Steve do this. He has to do something. “I cannot just sit here and let Lord Alexander Pierce use my husband as a scapegoat and a _mockery_ for this bill.” Though Joseph once again attempts to get him to calm down, Bucky pulls away from him. “If people thought _half_ the way Steve Rogers did the world would be _twice_ the place it is now. Steve Rogers sees the _good_ in people and the _beauty_ in them and he has faith in a world that’s about to let him down and I can’t let that happen!”

There’re murmurs coming from the packed courtroom behind him. Joseph has hastened his tries at getting Bucky to stop, worried, it seems, that he might do even more damage. Judge Stern takes a turn with the gavel. Steve watches him with wonder and awe, as though his words dazzle and surprise him. 

Bucky goes on to say, “Whatever my husband says here today under the care of Lord Pierce is false. It’s _forced_.”

“Lord Rogers,” Alexander grunts. “I’d get your spouse under control if I were you.”

Steve’s eyes fly from him to Bucky. 

“Bucky--”

Bucky shakes his head. “Steve, you can’t…”

“I _have_ to.”

“You see this?” Alexander scoffs a laugh. “He can’t even control his own spouse. He’s useless without the proper tradition to--”

“That’s not true!” Bucky yells. “Steve is anything but useless!”

“And Lord Barnes, here, after only a few months under his headship has turned into a disrespectful, uncivil--”

“You’re twisting everything around!” Bucky’s losing control and losing it fast. He knows that. And, yet, he can’t seem to reel himself in. “You _lie_ and _cheat_ and _steal_ and--”

“Bucky!” Steve shouts over him as Alexander simply stands there with this horrible sneer curled up on his lips as Bucky digs himself deeper. “Stop it! Listen to your husband, _please_! Just go! Get out of here!”

“No, not without _you_!” Bucky cries. Looking back at the judges, he shoves a finger at Lord Pierce’s direction. “This man, who you might favor today, would have let my husband _die_ just so he could blackmail our House into learning information on it!” 

Silence descends upon the courtroom except for Alexander Pierce’s outrageous denial that Bucky’s claim can possibly be true. Bucky’s shaking, so hard he’s not even sure how he hasn’t fallen over, but he never takes his eyes off the judges in front of him. Joseph’s stopped trying to calm him down. Everyone else is staring at him. He knows that. Steve, he thinks, is telling them not to listen to him, but he can barely hear above the pulse pounding in his ears. 

“Those are very serious accusations, Lord Barnes,” Judge Fury says. “Do you have any proof to back up those claims?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Lord Pierce insists. “It’s not--”

“As a matter of fact,” Bucky interrupts, an odd sense of calm and acceptance floating along the edges of his bones. “I do.” He doesn’t bother turning. He already knows she’s there. “Natalia?”

Alexander, however, does turn. Quick and shocked as the courtroom is once again overcome with surprise and Judge Fury calls for order as Natalia, indeed, makes her way from the back of the room to the front. 

“Lady Romanov, this hearing is closed to members of High Society _only_ ,” Alexander sneers as she reaches them. “You can’t be here.”

Natalia simply ignores him as she pushes through the swinging wooden gates that separate the spectators from the court officials. With a tight smile and no permission, she approaches the bench and hands Judge Fury the film reel she’s been keeping for Bucky since Steve was ill. The proof of Alexander’s crimes. The proof of Brock’s crimes. The proof, unfortunately, of Bucky’s crimes as well. 

“Lady Romanov,” Judge Fury greets with warm, friendly familiarity. “Always a pleasure.”

Natalia smiles at him. 

“Likewise, Judge Fury.” She’s on her way back, two court officers now behind her to see her out, when she notices Alexander glaring at her. She smirks at him. “I’m sorry,” she says as she passes. “Did I step on your moment?”

As she goes by Bucky, she offers the best she can without being able to pause. A warm expression and a soft brush of her hand upon his. A gentle squeeze just before she’s completely by him. 

Once Natalia is escorted out of the courtroom, Judge Fury holds the film reel up.

“What is it that I’m holding, Lord Barnes?”

So Bucky tells them. With a hard, painful lump in his throat, Bucky explains exactly what they’ll find on it. Lord Pierce’s conspiracy to commit treason against another House and withholding Steve’s medication. Lord Rumlow’s physical assault against Bucky. 

Even with Alexander Pierce denying it the whole time and being told to behave like a gentleman by Judge Fury or be held in contempt of Court. Even with Brock’s futile attempt at fleeing and being dragged back by two court officers to be shackled to keep from any further tries. Even admitting his own part in it, right down to his relationship with Brock while being engaged and his one encounter after marriage -- Bucky lays it all out. 

“This is preposterous,” Alexander keeps muttering. “I am from the House of _Pierce_!”

“That may be,” Lady Walters says. “And, as such, you’re probably very aware that if what Lord Barnes says is _true_ and such evidence _can_ be found on the film reel he’s provided, then not only will you be sentenced to serve three to five years in prison, but unless someone from your House speaks on your behalf, you’ll be forever stripped of your title, removed from your position of honor, and banished from Society.” 

No one from the House of Pierce will speak for him even though Alexander continues to insist that they can’t touch him. Bucky knows that. They all do.

“This is a waste of time,” he grumbles. “There has been a member of the House of Pierce serving in Parliament for over two hundred years. Our ways of life have _always_ been how things have been down.” Alexander glares up at the bench. “You _can’t_ undo that. You _can’t_ change it.”

Judge Fury leans forward slightly and says, intense and heavy, “ _Keep_ both eyes open and _watch_ what happens next.” 

“Lord Rogers?” Judge Rhodes remarks. “In light of these new circumstances, would you like to amend your earlier statement?”

While Alexander goes to argue, saying they can’t do that, and Lady Walter, sounding quite pleased to do so, reminds him that Judge Rhodes was speaking to Steve, Bucky takes a glimpse over at his husband. Who he hasn’t looked at since claiming he had this proof. 

They lock eyes. Bucky so badly wishes he knew what Steve was thinking. What he thought about all this. He wants to reach out to touch him. Steve never knew about the film reel. But a ghost of a smile touches his lips. Sad. Tired. But a smile nonetheless. 

“Yes, your honors,” Steve whispers. Eyes still on Bucky. “I would. I don’t…” He smiles a little more. “I don’t know that I’m all the kind things my lovely husband claims me to be, but I do know that the Tolerance and Acceptance Act _is_.” Steve looks at the Judges now. “People like Lord Pierce will have others believe that change is bad. That it will destroy everything. Remove one brick and the whole building collapses. But when a brick is rotten, the building collapses anyway. When the foundation is rotten, the building collapses anyway. No one is asking for a complete upheaval of Society. We’re simply looking for change. To change the old bricks with new ones. With change, we can make a difference. We can make ourselves better and make the lives of others better as well. The world is always changing. We need to be the ones who change it. That _will_ make all the difference. We can make it better, for so many people. It can start today. Maybe I’m too idealistic, I don’t know, but I do believe in the good of the people in this city.”

And Steve doesn’t even know what’s been happening. He has no idea that people have come to speak out for the bill and to stand with him, and yet he _still_ has this faith. Still believes that somewhere along the way, people will do the right thing.

Warmed to his very core, Bucky needs to wipe a few tears from his face. Steve Rogers. Bucky stands by what he said earlier. While he may not have the faith in the world as Steve does, it _would_ be a much better place if people were more like him. 

“Oh, _please_ ,” Alexander grunts. “You can’t possibly tell me you’re going to entertain this. Yes, like his mother before him, he has a way with words. So, he’s _charming_. Does any of that change the fact that he’s a _criminal_? This man--”

“Broke laws whose validity are currently under discussion,” Judge Fury says. “Quite different than treason, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Pierce? Or assault and battery, right, Lord Rumlow?”

“In fact,” Judge Rhodes concurs. “I do believe we’ve heard enough to deliberate on this matter.” He gestures to the court officers. “Officers, place these men under custody so that they do not try to leave this courtroom.” 

Men. Brock is already under restraint. Men means Bucky as well, and an officer is already coming towards him. It shouldn’t be surprising. Exposing Alexander and Brock meant condemning himself. If this is what has to be done to protect Steve, then so be it.

Bucky takes in a deep breath as the officer approaches and removes the iron shackles clipped to his belt. Slow and even with traces of sympathy. Funny, as much as he’d like to never see the inside of a prison cell, he’s strangely unafraid, and simply holds his arms out. Unlike Alexander, Bucky doesn’t put up any arguments. He just allows the man to slip the iron cuffs around his wrists, locking them in front of him. 

His right wrist winces. _Take them off_ , _please_. 

_They don’t hurt that bad_ , he tells it as the harsh metal digs into his skin. 

“Judge Stern!” Alexander shouts as he struggles against the cuffs. “You can’t let them do this!” 

But Judge Stern looks as though he’s concentrating very hard on something and says nothing to Alexander at all. 

The officer then leads Bucky from the gallery through the swinging gates. He’s gentle with him, guiding him to the seats by the table where Lady Walters’s gestures for him to be seated. Unfortunately, both Alexander and Brock are brought over as well, while Steve is still on the other side of the room.

“My apologies, Lord Rogers,” Judge Fury states as he and the other judges rise, though Steve is staring at Bucky. A horrified look stuck upon his face. Stuck in a nightmare Bucky promised he’d always wake him from. “Since you are not formally a part of today’s hearing, we’re going to have to escort you from the room while we deliberate, however, seeing as these are extenuating circumstances, we will allow you to be present for the decision.”

At first, Bucky’s sure Steve hasn’t heard a word he’s said at all. There’s a disoriented glaze in his eyes. Almost as though he’s slept too long or not enough. 

“Steven,” Joseph says from behind the gates. “Answer Judge Fury, son.”

Steve’s eyes blink like he’s rising out of a fog. His chin lifts slightly, gaze still on Bucky, and nods.

“I understand,” he whispers. “Thank you, your honors.”

Two court officers take him away then, and even though Joseph isn’t all that far, Bucky feels so alone. Even though Steve felt miles away with this forsaken table between them, even with them both in cuffs and doomed to be separated once more, at least they were together. Now, it feels as though Bucky’s been severed in half. Again.

“You should have kept your mouth _shut_ , doll.” Bucky’s heart skips a beat, Brock’s livid growling in his ear. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

He’s right. Bucky’s sure he will. At some point. Prison is a dangerous place, even for a man like Brock Rumlow, made out of solid muscle. And they’ll be there together. 

“Right,” Bucky murmurs. “I told you. I told you both that day.” In Alexander’s office. When Steve’s life hung in the balance of the medicines being shattered all over the sake of information Alexander Pierce wanted from Bucky. “It wasn’t over.”

“It could have been,” Brock says. He leans towards him, looming over Bucky like a presence that refuses to ever leave. “I’ll make _sure_ it isn’t now.”

“If you don’t stop harassing him,” Lady Walters suddenly says. “I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again. And believe me…” She leans back to look at Brock. “I’ll make sure it happens.”

Brock’s entire face flushes a deep, dark crimson, but he appears to be struck wordless by the threat. He leans away again.

While appreciative of the interference, Bucky’s quite sure that tonight he’s meant to be brought to a holding cell right here in City Hall. He’ll be placed in there with both Brock and Alexander. Unless there’s some way he can be sent to prison right away. 

“Lady Walters,” he whispers. “Is there… any way we can do this today? Just… get it over with?”

She stares at him for a moment, eyes flicking to Brock and then back to him. 

“Lord Barnes, if you’re worried about--”

“I am, but…” Bucky shakes his head. “I just want it to be done with. Can we do that?”

“We can expedite the trial, yes, but, if I get a look at the film reel I can certainly argue a case for you, Lord Barnes. And I’m sure Lord Rogers will speak for you.” He will. Of that, Bucky’s certain. “We can get a reduced sentence. You can be out of prison in less than a year.”

“Maybe,” Bucky says. “But I--”

Before Bucky can finish, the door opens and Steve is once again brought back into the courtroom. Seconds later, the judges return and everyone is asked to stand. As they do, Lady Walters whispers that their fast return is either really good or really bad. 

The late afternoon fills with tension, the golden rays of sun that sneak in through the high, thin windows quivering when Judge Fury tells everyone to be seated. 

“Over the past few years, the late Sarah Rogers gave birth to what we’re now calling the Tolerance and Acceptance Act,” he begins. “A bill that, if passed today, will see some changes to how this city, and if it’s adopted by other places, maybe even the country, has done things for many, many years.” Judge Fury has a stack of papers in front of him. He sifts through it and selects a page. “It was Lady Rogers’s belief that many of the traditions practiced by Society has become outdated and need to be reformed. She did not believe that a person’s House should dictate their future, but that the individual should have the right to choose for themselves. She did not view any persons for any reason as a burden and thought it wrong to do so -- whether ill or disabled or simply someone different from Society’s normal. She thought it wrong to separate someone from their entire life simply for entering under someone’s headship. And…” He snickers. “I’m sure it goes without saying, she was a supporter of the arts.”

There’s a light chuckle that goes throughout the courtroom and Bucky means to chuckle along, but it seems to get lodged in his throat. So do several other emotions. 

“Both Lord Joseph and Steven Rogers, along with many other Houses who have long standing reputations and prestige and honor, have endorsed the Tolerance and Acceptance Act,” Judge Fury goes on. “Lady Walters has presented a very reasonable case to us today for why change needs to be made. A system that is broken, doesn’t work right.” 

Bucky’s heart sinks when Judge Fury stops speaking and Judge Stern picks up where he left off. 

“Be that as it may, we have heard reasonable arguments for _both_ sides of today’s case,” he says. “Despite some unfortunate incidents regarding Lord Pierce, he has made very valuable points about _not_ passing this bill. We have built our laws and traditions up one by one for many years. Rip out the foundation of any struction, and disorder and chaos is sure to follow.”

Judge Rhodes says, “A difficult decision falls upon us this afternoon to weigh both sides and determine if the potential benefits of the bill will outweigh the potential damages it may cause.” He pauses, the corners of his lips turning down. “Unfortunately, as it stands, it is this Court’s opinion that the risks are just too great to pass the bill.”

The whole world fades away to nothing but the ice in Bucky’s stomach and the hot pulse pounding in his ears. He’s vaguely aware of the murmurs going on around him. Of the hushed responses that rise from those in the gallery and the judges attempts at maintaining order. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Bucky didn’t just sacrifice his freedom and reputation and Steve didn’t just lie to the Courts just to have it all be in vain. This can’t be the end. There has to be more they can do, another way to fight. They can’t give up. Not yet. Someone has to…

“Your honors?” Steve is on his feet, the only one in the entire courtroom standing as his voice echoes through. “Even if your decision today is to veto this bill, we won’t stop.” There’re tremors that run through Steve’s body and a slight swaying to his feet, but the sheer determination that burns in his eyes, tightens his jaw, stiffens his spine, overpowers all of that. “If what you say is true and other Houses _have_ begun supporting my mother’s bill, I can assure you that this is only the beginning. And even if _no one_ supports us, it won’t matter. You can continue insisting that we’re wrong, even if the whole _world_ says we’re wrong, we _will_ keep fighting for what we know is right. You will not stop us.” 

A heartbeat. That’s all it takes for Steve’s words to sink in. For everyone to know that he means them all. Bucky, through the cold, sinking feeling of defeat, smiles knowing that man is his husband. 

Up at the bench, Judge Fury smirks and motions for one of the court officers to go over to Steve. The glands in Bucky’s throat swell. 

_No,_ his heart pleads. _They can’t make Steve leave_.

_Not yet_ , his arms, who haven’t had a chance to hug him, cry. _Please_.

They can’t take him away yet. Not when Bucky hasn’t even gotten a chance to talk to him. The least they can do is let Bucky say goodbye. 

Only the officer doesn’t take Steve anywhere. He doesn’t even make Steve sit back down. All he does, much to Bucky’s surprise -- and Alexander’s protest -- is remove the restraints around his wrists. The second they’re off, Steve rubs at his skin and gazes warily back up at the judges. 

“We’ve always taken the world for what it is,” Judge Fury says. “Perhaps it’s time we start taking it for what it should be.” He nods at Judge Rhodes while Judge Stern huffs, a look of discontent stamped across his face. “Your mother had very big aspirations, Lord Rogers, but too much change at once, we fear, will simply prove Alexander Pierce’s point correct. Change, implemented gradually, might be accepted better. It’s the hope of this Court that you will accept our offer to oversee the revisions to the Tolerance and Acceptance Act and its application to the city.” 

“I…” Steve blinks. Appears just as stunned and shocked by Judge Fury’s words as Bucky feels. “Oversee, your honor?”

Judge Rhodes nods. “Who better to oversee the bill as it goes into effect throughout the city than you, Lord Rogers?”

“With you in charge of its application and some modifications,” Judge Fury continues, “we’re confident that the Tolerance and Acceptance Act will be a success. So what say you, Lord Rogers? Will you accept our offer?”

There’s not a sound in the room. Not even a fly would dare flap its wings in a moment like this. Next to Bucky, Lady Walters has gone completely still. On his other side, Brock’s fists are clenched so tightly that they tremble. 

Steve’s mouth opens once. He drops his gaze from the judges and stares down at the table like he’s not quite sure what to make of all that’s happening. Bucky knows that look. Has seen it before, when Steve’s woken breathless and shaken from nightmares. He promised Steve he’d always be there to wake him. Now he’s all the way over here while Steve stands facing this on his own. 

Steve looks up, opens his mouth again, and says, “Yes.”

Everything happens in a blur after that. Bucky knows that Judge Fury declares the Tolerance and Acceptance Act passed and drop all charges against Steve because of it. Steve is whisked away before Bucky barely has a chance to look at him. To where, Bucky doesn’t see since the crowd in the gallery has stood and his husband disappears within it. People are reacting to the decision -- some with excitement, some with dismay. The doors have opened as people exit to announce what’s happened. Judge Rhodes asks that Alexander, Brock, and Bucky be taken into custody to await trial. Alexander shouts in protest, swearing injustice and outrage and both he and Brock struggle against the officers that lead them from the courtroom in shackles. Then an officer comes over to Bucky. 

He murmurs something to him, though Bucky doesn’t quite understand what. All he hopes for is even just a glimpse of Steve. If nothing can be done, if Bucky’s going to be taken away, then he just wants one look at his husband. Just one. 

“Your honors!” Lady Walters shouts over the pulse drumming in Bucky’s ears. “I know it’s been a long, trying day, but Lord Barnes has requested an expedited trial.” 

“You’re right, Lady Walters,” Judge Stern says. “It _has_ been a long day. Lord Barnes can wait for a trial for a chance to be spoken for.”

The courtroom begins to quiet down again. More than half the occupants have already left, probably anxious to spread the word of what’s happened. Bucky doesn’t see where either Steve or Joseph are. For all he knows they were swept out with the crowd. 

“Judge Stern,” Judge Fury argues. “If it wasn’t for Lord Barnes, we would have never known the true nature of Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow. Because of him, two criminals have been exposed and will be stripped of their titles and exiled from Society.”

Judge Rhodes says, “I believe we can allow this favor today.” All three of them look directly at Bucky. “Lord Barnes, you stand accused of committing treason against your House and infidelity against your headship. Do you deny these charges?”

Bucky takes in a deep breath, every muscle curled tightly around his bones. He can face this. 

“I do not.” 

Judge Fury nods. “Then it is the duty of this court to find you guilty of these charges. Unless someone is willing to--”

“I will speak for him.”

Steve’s voice rings through the room a half a second before Joseph’s does each of them saying the same thing, and Bucky’s heart swells with so much support and love he has no chance to hold back the tears that burn his eyes. Though most of the court has emptied out, this is still a formal trial, and Bucky’s meant to stay facing the judges. It pains him to do so. 

“I figured as much,” Judge Fury replies. He leans forward, fingers laced and a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. “As Lord Barnes’s headship and the Head of the House of Rogers, it is well within both your rights to speak on his behalf.” He gestures to one of them. “Since his offenses occurred under you headship, I think it best we hear from you, Lord Steven Rogers.”

There’re sounds behind him. Footsteps and chairs moving, and Bucky goes to look, but Lady Walters places a hand upon his shoulder to keep him from turning. While he doubts very much that Judges Fury or Rhodes would hold it against him, Judge Stern, having already had today not go the way he probably wanted, is watching him very closely. Bucky holds still.

“My spouse may be guilty of actions these Courts still define as crimes to be punished by the Courts,” Steve says, and his voice, Bucky thinks, holds no accusation at all. The guilt he speaks of is simply for the benefit of the Court and if Bucky could, he’d drop to his knees and thank the world for allowing him any amount of time he’s been given with him. “But they happened under times of extreme duress. All of them. Both Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow used his delicate and stressful situation to their advantage and manipulated him into doing things he wouldn’t normally do.” He pauses and it sounds as though maybe Steve needs to catch his breath. “I believe my husband’s actions today speak much louder than those actions of his past.”

Before responding to that, the three judges lean in and murmur something in private conference. When they finish, they look past Bucky.

“And what do you seek then, Lord Rogers?” Judge Fury asks. 

“I seek a full pardon, of course,” Steve answers as though that should be obvious, and Bucky can’t help the shaky laugh that breaks through his tears. 

All three judges exchange surprised glances. Whoever remains in the gallery whispers in shock of Steve’s boldness. Even Lady Walters appears a bit taken back. 

“A _full_ pardon?” Judge Fury snickers. “So like your mother.”

“You’re not seriously considering this, are you?” Judge Stern grumbles. “This is an upheaval of our laws! Can anyone just break the law now? Just commit treason and adultery and get away with it?”

“No.” Judge Rhodes shakes his head. “But I think we can afford Lord Barnes the justice we didn’t grant his father.” Bucky’s heart squeezes and thanks him silently when Rhodey smiles softly at him. “And if all those who the crimes were committed against feel this is the best course of action, then we can probably make an exception.” He looks beyond Bucky and speaks to Joseph now. “Lord Joseph Rogers, as the Head of the Household, do agree with your son’s conditions?”

“I do,” Joseph replies. “And my wife would have as well.”

Sarah. Bucky smiles and holds in a gentle, emotional sob. She isn’t here, but she is. So much of her is here today. In the sun that sparkles with hope. The changes that warms the world just waiting to happen. 

“Very well then,” Judge Fury says. “I see no reason why we can’t allow this.” He ignores Judge Stern’s grumbles as he reaches for the gavel in front of him. “Lord Barnes, in a count of two to three, this Court grants you a full pardon in the matter of treason against your House and any acts of infidelity against your headship. I officially declare this day of Court over.” Judge Fury hits the gavel down. “Lord Barnes, you and Lord Rogers are free to go.”

Free to go. It’s like stepping into a dream. One Bucky hopes to never wake from, not if it takes this away from him. From them. He and Steve can go home. Together.

The judges all stand. Judge Stern makes his escape quickly. Judges Fury and Rhodes are talking as they make their way from the bench. They even exchange polite gestures with some of those left in the courtroom. Lady Walters shakes Bucky’s hand and offers her congratulations. His left arm gives all the thanks bubbling through him, metal pieces fitting over each other and making a _swooshing_ noise, and he feels words coming out of his throat, but Bucky can only hope they actually make any sense since his brain doesn’t seem to be working properly. Fearful, maybe, that this really is a dream. That the second Bucky really believes this all to be true he’ll wake up in a chair in the front parlor of the Institute waiting for Joseph to return from a pointless visit with Steve. His husband. Locked away.

But a few more minutes tick away. They tick and move time and Steve is still there. Somewhere in the hopeful yet frightening fog that’s descended upon Bucky, he’s aware that other people are there as well.

Joseph keeps hugging Steve. They speak, of course, probably father checking on his son’s well-being, but, mostly, he just keeps hugging him. Lord and Lady Stark -- Tony’s parents, who Bucky didn’t even realize were there at all -- also give Steve hugs. Lady Walters has made her way over. She receives heartfelt thanks and handshakes that turn into hugs. There’s a lot of hugging going on while Bucky just stands there, too stunned to really do much of anything beyond watch. 

Everything’s happened so fast. For Steve, perhaps, as well. He’s responding to those around him -- an answer, a handshake, a hug -- but his eyes aren’t focused. His face is incredibly pale, lips as well. He even looks like he might be sick. And Bucky’s not the only one to notice.

Joseph looks back at Bucky. It’s brief, just a quick catch of eyes, but in that instant, Bucky knows exactly what Joseph’s doing when he starts heading towards the doors, bringing those few people remaining in the courtroom with Steve and Bucky with him. He’s taking all these people away. Leaving Steve alone with Bucky. Trusting Bucky alone with Steve. Though Bucky might not have the same relationship with Joseph as he had with Sarah, but he’d like to think that what there is between them is definitely special. 

The second the doors close behind Joseph all the strength and energy that Steve had been using to keep himself up seems to run out and he collapses into the chair next to him. His shoulders slump and his head looks too heavy for his neck as he rests his brow in the palms of his hands. He may never have really had any strength to begin with.

For a moment, Bucky just stands there in the courtroom emptied of everyone save for him and his husband -- both pardoned of all charges and free to go. They’re together again. Separated, currently, by a room, but together, and the smile, through tears that blur all of Bucky’s sight, warms him to the center of his belly.

The world, he knows, is about to change. But in here, right now, it’s just Bucky and Steve, and the world has become just a heart beating for the two of them. Just two people who were willing to sacrifice everything for each other. 

There might only a half a room between them, but it may as well be an entire ocean that Bucky’s just not sure how to cross. More than two months have past since they’ve last been alone together. Right here, right now, that’s all that matters.

Bucky breathes out softly. A part of him wants to run up and gather Steve in his arms and never let him go. That might not be a good idea though. Not with the way Steve is slumped over. As though he might topple to the floor if Bucky breathes on him too hard. This needs to be handled delicately, and Bucky takes a slow, quiet step forward. One by one. Closing the distance that he’ll never allow to exist between them again.

“Steve?” Bucky whispers when he’s next to him, and, oh, he’s said his name to him. Right here. Steve is here. Not in a dream. Not just his name rolling off Bucky’s lips in the wishful moments of waking in the middle of the night in an empty bedroom, but really _here_. With him. “Husband?” 

He slides a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Unthinking. It’s been so long since he’s felt him close. Steve’s body shudders under the weight of Bucky’s palm, as though startled by the sudden contact, maybe even frightened that Bucky means him harm. Steve glances up at him. Any worry that filled him deflates upon seeing who stands beside him now. The corners of his lips twitch. Almost like he means to pull them into a smile, but he just can’t manage. Too exhausted or too overwhelmed or too dazed to do much of anything other than stare up at Bucky. 

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs again, and then wonders, worried if maybe Steve is in some sort of pain. He’s been through so much and Bucky doesn’t even know how to begin unraveling the mess and untangling the knots that have been pulled into their lives. “My love, can you say something?”

There’s another slight pull at Steve’s mouth as he opens it and says, soft as a breeze, “I wanna go home.”

Home, yes. Where warm walls and cozy floors and welcoming rooms wait for them to return. No doubt Truvie has made good on her promise. They’ll likely open the front doors to find all the curtains drawn so that sunlight may happily spin and dance across the open rooms. The windows may even be open. Warm, springtime breezes floating through to cleanse whatever leftover demons may linger in the corners of their home. The linens will be fresh and it wouldn’t be surprising to even find a meal waiting. Tears burn in Bucky’s eyes at the mere thought. 

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky says. Holds a hand out to help his husband to his feet. “Let’s get you home.” 

Steve first glances at Bucky’s hand like he doesn’t understand what to do with it. Then his eyes light up like he’s been given the most wonderful gift of his entire life. He doesn’t quite take it to help himself up, though. Instead, he holds it in both of his hands and brings it close to his mouth. Before kissing it, which he does, over and over and over, he fixes Bucky’s palm to the side of his face. Nuzzles his cheek against it as though the soft touch is just the grandest thing he’s felt in years. 

“Bucky,” he whispers. Says his name like it’s a rare gem, a precious stone he means to treasure always. Steve looks up at him. “You were going to go to prison for me.” 

“Well… I love you.” Bucky uses his left hand to brush some of the hair away from Steve’s face. He may not be able to feel it, but he can still tell it’s in need of a real washing. “You lied to the world for me.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice cracks, giving way to emotions that Bucky can’t begin to understand. “I love you. They were going to… I wasn’t going to… to let them… hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Bucky.”

“I know,” Bucky whispers and leans in to press a kiss to Steve’s brow. “I know. Come on. Let’s go home.” 

Bucky helps Steve up this time, and though Steve doesn’t fully drop all his weight against him, he does lean into him. More affection than support, though Bucky wouldn’t be all that surprised to learn that Steve’s holding more of himself up than he really should be. 

They walk across the courtroom together, towards the doors where the outside world waits for them. Both their hands reach for the doorknob at the same time. It’s Bucky’s hand that reaches it first, but Steve leaves his resting over Bucky’s anyway as though he just can’t help touching him. 

When the doors open, however, it’s no wonder Steve gasps and clasps onto him. Not even Bucky is prepared for what’s out there. Under normal circumstances, a sea of flashing lights and jabbering reporters shouting questions at him would throw Steve into a spiral of nerves. This is so much more. 

Not only are there photographers trying to snap pictures of the freshly acquitted Lord Steven Rogers and reporters scrambling to ask about the Tolerance and Acceptance Act, there’re swarms of people shouting and yelling. Some of them -- most of them -- are cheering -- shouts of joy and congratulations. A sea of happy faces and a thunderous round of applause from all those who’ve decided to step out of the shadows to show their support to Steve. 

Front and center, of course, and quite possibly the ones who’ve rallied all these people together today, are Peggy, Sam, and Tony. With them are Gabe and Maria and Pepper. Unsurprisingly, Natalia never actually left and is right out there with Clint. There are other familiar faces as well. Bruce and Betty are there. Dr. Odinson is there with Lady Foster. Even the Lords Bradley have a spot right in front. Bucky’s both surprised and, then again, not surprised, to see his mother there with Rebecca. Standing tall and proud in the face of these changes. 

The front steps of City Hall, save for a small path kept cleared by patrol officers, are completely filled with people. Society and below, all gathered together for one thing -- to witness history being made. 

There are others booing, angry with today’s outcome as they yell colorful phrases and hurl hurtful things about Steve and the House and even Bucky at them. They, however, are in the minority, and as Bucky stands there on the brink of change with his husband, he realizes something amazing. Incredible. His heart fills with sunshine, ready to burst and send rays of light through every part of his body. 

“Look what you did, Steve,” he murmurs. “You did this.” 

“No, I…” Steve shakes his head, eyes swimming with confusion. He glances to Bucky. “I wasn’t even here. This was… _you_ , Bucky.” 

Steve touches the sides of Bucky’s face, holds it in both hands. So soft and tender, like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever placed his hands on. Bucky’s eyes fall closed. He wants to argue. To tell Steve that none of this would be possible without him. But he can’t. The words just aren’t there right now. Because _Steve_ is. Steve is here and he’s touching him and he’s leaned in so close and…

“Kiss me, Steve,” Bucky whispers just loud enough for Steve to hear. “Please, husband. Show them. Show them I’m yours and you’re mine. Show them what we’ve won. Show them--”

Steve’s lips are crushing his before Bucky can finish that. 

***

Someone is crying in the back of the motorcar that takes them home. Tony’s motorcar. He, along with Sam and Peggy on one side of them and Maria, Natalia, and Clint on the other, kept Bucky and Steve shielded from reporters as they walked down the steps of City Hall. Pepper and Gabe had been waiting down at the curb to make sure no one bothered them there.

Reporters and photographers swarmed around the motorcar as Steve and Bucky got into it. The last Bucky saw of the scene before the driver pulled away was their friends keeping the crowds from following, even just the short distance they’d be able to. 

Now, someone is crying. Bucky has his arms wrapped around Steve. Steve has his arms wrapped around Bucky. Bucky’s not quite sure how or when they ended up like that, but they’re clinging onto each other. His fingers are clenched tightly into the fabric of Steve’s must-scented clothes, face buried deep against his chest, while Steve has his pressed into Bucky’s hair. Steve is holding him so close, so tight, it’s hard for Bucky to breathe, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t do anything to disturb the positions they’ve ended up in. 

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers, voice weak and shaky, and Bucky’s not even sure why he’s saying it at all. “It’s… it’s okay, Bucky.” His breath catches. “I’m… it’s okay.”

Mouth opening to reply to Steve, to say something, _anything_ at all, the only things that come out are incoherent blubbering. Because _Bucky’s_ the one that’s crying. Bucky’s bawling in Steve’s arms while Steve comforts him and the entire situation is completely backwards. 

It’s Steve who just spent two months locked away in an Institute. Steve who’s been pumped full of who knows how many drugs that whole time. Steve who was just blackmailed into lying to the world.

And now it’s Bucky who’s crying. Bucky should be the one comforting him, making sure Steve’s okay, and yet he simply cannot get a grip. He’s just sucking in rough, jagged breaths and every time he tries to get words out, a hiccup comes up his throat instead. All the while Steve just pets a hand over the back of his head and doesn’t let Bucky move away. 

After a few minutes of trying to calm himself down, Bucky just gives up and openly weeps in Steve’s embrace. Steve doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he just holds Bucky to his chest and goes on telling him that everything is okay, and Bucky wonders if maybe it’s just as much of a comfort to Steve as it is to him. 

By the time Bucky begins to settle down, and he’s no longer heaving in ugly breaths but is left with a very unattractive runny nose and puffy eyes, he realizes that his husband has fallen asleep. Wiping at his messy face with the back of his sleeve -- very un-gentleman like, but Bucky hardly cares -- he eases Steve’s head down onto his shoulder. 

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky murmurs, softly. Feathers a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. 

He holds Steve close to him, thinking back on the early days of their marriage. When Bucky was afraid of him, of all that being married to Steve Rogers, he thought, would mean. Freedoms and dreams and a planned life lost to tradition and a headship that would never understand him. Instead of losing, Bucky’s gained. So, so much. 

Steve Rogers opened the door to a cell that Bucky didn’t even know he was trapped in. His husband carefully picked and pried at the lock. Gilded and polished and disguised as something that not even Bucky recognized as what was keeping him trapped in a world of darkness. Where dreams had turned to nightmares and hopes had turned to fear. 

And Steve, with all his kindness and patience and understanding, even in the face of potential disastrous mistakes of two newly wedded strangers, opened the lock and waited for Bucky to come out on his own. Waited with open arms and love and Bucky is very willing to spend every minute of every day repaying him for that. 

“I’m going to take care you, Steve.” He makes this vow to him, here and now, as the driver turns down the familiar streets that will bring them home, with only his heart and husband’s sleeping ears to bare witness. “No one will touch you, husband. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you again. I promise.”

And as the motorcar comes to a stop in front of the home they’ve made together, and Steve begins to wake, slowly lifting his head to blink at Bucky in mild confusion before recognition passes over his face, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as though the mere sight of him is simply a dream come true, Bucky seals that promise with a tender kiss. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... oh man I _really_ hope that was satisfying. I know I really enjoyed writing it! Oh gosh, only 1 wrap up chapter and the epilogue left and this is all done. I really can't believe it. I can't believe that so many people have shared this journey with Steve and Bucky and me!  <333
> 
> So for one of the last times...
> 
> Bucky throughout any part of the trial really 
> 
> and then Bucky accepting that he's going to be arrested 
> 
> we all know this one I'm sure but for shits and giggles 
> 
> and then these are both steve throughout the trial 
> 
> And Natalia after making her appearance in court 
> 
> And I guess that's if for now! Thank you again so so much for reading and sticking with me! I'll post the last chapter before the epilogue in a day or so!


	35. Here We Are. The Last Chapter Before the Epilogue How has This Even Happened?

Change, it seems, happens whether it’s sought for or not. It’s in everything. Everywhere. Happens every day without warning. In the choices being made by anyone and in the winds that reshape carefree clouds and the seasons that slowly take over each other. It’s in the death of a father. The death of a mother. The unexpected love that blossoms between two strangers. There’s just no fighting it. It might be hard and it can be frightening but, change is inevitable. 

People handle it in their own way, of course. Some fight it, like those who continue to actively protest the Tolerance and Acceptance Act. Others embrace it, welcoming change with open arms like an old friend. Steve Rogers, and those like him, are okay with change but prefer to ease into it. 

Or, that’s what it feels like. At least, this time around. 

When the world is suddenly turned on its side and looks to Steve as the one to pick up the pieces to set it right again. Some people have called for his head. Blame him for the mess. Most, though, just see him as a beacon of hope. The one who will put theory into practice and make things better for those who seek it.

Never in his life did Steve expect to shoulder such a responsibility, but it’s his now and he’s learning to deal with that. 

Fortunately for him, the Courts granted him a month’s leave before expecting him to begin those responsibilities. Which was a good thing because all Steve could do for those few weeks was sleep. Not like after his mother died, when getting out of bed was just an impossibility -- the thought as jarring as having to climb a mountainside without any equipment.

No, this had been different. Steve had been able to get out of bed. He did this time. To eat. To shower. To dress. To be with his husband and anyone else who would come by. But mostly, Steve would sleep.

“It’s normal,” Bruce said. He would come by every other day to check on him. “You’re working a lot of drugs out of your body. Give it some time. You need to rest, Steve. Your body _and_ your mind.”

Rest, yes. Steve didn’t mind the rest, he just wished he could stay awake during the day. During visits and such. A lot of people would come to visit. Steve was happy to see them all, even if he was only able to sit with them for a little while before he felt too worn out and tired and would need to lay down again. 

Thanks to Truvie, who pulled both him and Bucky into a tight hug before they even crossed in through the door, Steve’s belly was always full. The foul taste of the mush they passed off as stew still haunted his taste buds, but thanks to Truvie -- and Bucky -- Steve was eating three full meals a day.

“You didn’t think I was about to let you starve, did you, m’Lord?” Truvie said that first evening they were home. “I knew you’d be home. Any day.” She was holding back tears as she sat them at the table in the morning room, not even commenting on Steve’s appearance since he still hadn’t bathed and was only wearing a robe. “There’s a light soup, in case anything more is too much. And I have a roast all ready for you. And apple cake is coolin’ on the--”

“Truvie.” Bucky placed his hand lightly over hers as she poured wine for them, and said the words that were just too jumbled up in Steve’s mind and tied knots around his tongue. “Thank you. For… for everything.”

The whole place was immaculate. Top to bottom, every nook and cranny spotless of even one speck of dust. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think that he and Bucky had simply gone on their overseas trip -- he’d get to take his husband away, eventually, he was determined -- and returned to find their home as they left it. Steve knew the place had been ransacked. He’d seen the results of homes and businesses searched for evidence before and knew it was never a pretty sight to behold for those returning. Furniture overturned and broken glass and personal belongings treated like common garbage meant for anyone to be able to sift through.

Truvie had seen to it that not a trace of what happened was left behind. Her unwavering loyalty to the House of Rogers, and to Steve and Bucky, made sure that when they came home, no matter how long it took, they’d be coming back to _their_ home. Only later did Steve learn that Truvie and the rest of the staff endured the jeers and threats of protesters, and that Tony had hired private security to keep them safe. Stiles, who made it clear he never once considered leaving the House of Rogers’s services, assured Steve that he let neither Truvie nor anyone else on the staff leave with anyone but him. 

Staff had been bustling about to make sure he and Bucky had all the comforts they wanted available to them -- really, all Steve wanted those first few days was a hot meal and his warm bed and to feel Bucky wrapped in his arms -- but Steve hadn’t been too keen on having so much noise and so many people about. In all honesty, there probably wasn’t as much going on as it felt like, but that much was too much and by the fifth day, Truvie dismissed the staff the very second she saw Steve wince -- he tried to hide it, but apparently it didn’t work -- when a pot crashed.

After that, things were quieter inside the house. More peaceful and easier for Steve to relax. 

“You should have said something, Steve,” Bucky said that night in bed. Their bed. Together. “If the noise was bothering you.”

Steve moved closer to him. Hooked their ankles and slipped an arm around Bucky’s waist. He didn’t like even a little bit of space between them. If Bucky minded the closeness, he didn’t then, and never did, say anything about it. 

“I don’t think I realized,” he whispered. “And they were only trying to help.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But you haven’t been saying much of anything.” Bucky glanced up at him and it occurred to Steve then that he really hadn’t been talking all that much. After not being to for two months, it felt like he’d forgotten how. “Which is… that’s okay. Of course, it is, my love. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But…” He hesitated. Shifted so that Steve needed to release his affectionate hold on him. “Is there… anything else? Anything you haven’t said that… maybe you should?”

That was the night Steve told Bucky about the dark. About his probably childish fear of waking in their dark bedroom because sometimes he forgot where he was and thought he was waking at the Institute. Waking alone, too, even in the middle of the day, Steve just didn’t like it. He knew it was probably silly but he just didn’t like waking up to an empty room. 

It only took a minute for Bucky to hear what had been bothering Steve before he was doing something about it. With a big, encouraging smile on his face, Bucky leapt from the bed and hurried over to the door. He disappeared through it and seconds later, the light from out in the hall came trickling in, bringing his husband back with it. 

“How’s this?” Bucky asked, leaving the door ajar as he hustled back to the bed, practically jumping back to Steve. “Is that better, Steve?” He looked around, at the darkened shapes that now had a slight illumination around them. “Is this okay? I can open it more if you want me to. We could always light a lantern in here if you’d prefer and set the flame however--”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, a small smile whispered upon his lips. “I love you so much.” He slipped a hand softly to the side of Bucky’s face and let those soft strands of his hair fall over the back of his knuckles. “Come here.”

Eyes closing softly, Bucky let out a muffled whimper as he leaned forward, meeting Steve’s waiting lips. It was nice to know, to see even, that after all this, a slight touch was still enough to make his husband melt beneath his hand. Change may have been inevitable, but it was also nice to have things to count on. Like the dazed look in Bucky’s eyes when he opened them after their kiss. Like the blush that tickled his cheeks when he shook his head to clear it of that fog. Like his warmth and kindness and the love that filled Steve with the strength to make it to another day.

“It won’t bother you?” Steve asked. “The light?”

Bucky scoffed. “A little light will hardly keep me awake, husband. Besides…” He guided Steve back down to the pillows. “It would be worth it so long as you feel safe.” 

He did, too. Steve felt safer that night, snuggled up with his husband and the light happy to swim into the room with them than he had in over two months.

After that, Steve never woke alone in their room either. Someone was always there with him. Bucky, most of the times, but if Bucky couldn’t be, he made sure someone was in the room with Steve. Sometimes he’d wake to see his father reading the paper at the writing desk. Anytime Tony was there, he’d be on the floor tinkering away with little iron contraptions. Sam and Maria had been there several times, sitting together in the window seat playing cat’s cradle or chess or simply enjoying each other’s company. Once he woke to Peggy and little Sharon -- more than once to Peggy, sometimes just her, sometimes with Gabe -- crocheting a blanket together. 

“Is Uncle Steeb sick, Mama?” Steve heard Sharon’s quiet voice asked just as he began to stir. 

“No, sweetheart,” Peggy told her. “Uncle Steve is just very tired. So we need to make sure he’s very comfortable until he’s feeling rested again, okay?”

“Yes, okay!” Opening his eyes just in time, Steve got to see Sharon nod happily. “We’ll make him the best blanket ever. And I’ll draw him pictures. For his and Uncle Bucky’s room. I can now, right, Mama? Just like Uncle Steeb?”

“Yes, Sharon.” Peggy smiled and pet her hand over Sharon’s head. Left it there for a moment before gently taking hold of her chin. “You’ll be able to do a lot now because of your uncles. They’re going to make the world a better place for you.”

Steve sat up then, slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and welcomed Sharon onto his lap as she greeted him excitedly. 

In the middle of the summer, Steve and Bucky attended Natalia and Clint’s wedding. It was the first social event they went to. Not something Steve would dream of letting Bucky miss. Two of his best friends were marrying and even though Steve was still a little anxious and wary about attending a Society function, he figured if he was going to start somewhere, the wedding of friends would be a nice place. 

“We don’t need to stay long,” Bucky offered when he came down the stairs. All done up in a tuxedo for the occasion. Hair styled and face freshly shaved. 

They hadn’t arranged for a stylist this time. The only one Steve trusted enough to come into their home at the time was Teresa -- who they’d hired a few times and given their best word for -- but she’d already been hired for the evening -- by the House Romanov. Still, even without a stylist, Bucky stole Steve’s breath away when he came down. 

Steve had almost forgotten just how stunning his husband looked when he was dolled up like that. Sometimes, after everything, he wondered if maybe he dreamed him up. Just a fantasy. A beautiful prince that came to rescue him. 

But it was never a fantasy, and Steve’s prince was really right there, fixing a cufflink as he waited for Steve’s answer. 

Which came out as, “You’re so beautiful.” 

Fingers fumbling with their chore, Bucky looked up at him. 

“I… thank you, Steve.” A smile grew upon his lips. “You are as well, husband.” He stepped down the remainder of the staircase and up to him. Fixed the collar of Steve’s suit. “It’s almost a shame to dress something up so beautifully when I simply want to tear all the wrappings off again.” 

The second the words fell from his lips, Bucky gasped, horrified, maybe, that he’d said it at all. It had been so long since Bucky made a face like that. Aghast at something he’d let slip. 

This was to be their first Society event after all that had happened. Steve had only been home for six weeks. He had just returned to his place as a working member of Society. Bucky had just gone back to work himself. A lot of pressure was mounting and, it was true, they hadn’t been intimate or close to it since before Steve was arrested. But to joke about it to his headship seemed like something Bucky couldn’t fathom doing and yet he’d gone and done it. 

“Steve, I…” Bucky shook his head and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking…” 

But a laugh -- quick and sudden and loud -- rumbled through his chest. Steve laughed so hard he needed to hold onto himself, he feared he might fall over. It rocked his belly and made his sides ache and put tears in his eyes. Bucky, whose chuckles were hesitant and danced nervously on the line of uncertainty, waited patiently for Steve to get control of himself. 

“Oh,” he said when his breaths were filled with more than just laughter. “Oh, Bucky.” Steve pulled him in for a hug. “Never change, okay?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, husband,” he grumbled into Steve’s chest. And then looked up with this shine in his eyes. Two stars that peered at Steve like the brightest light in the darkest night. “Steve?”

He slipped fingers under Bucky’s chin. Lifted a little more. “Yes?”

“You haven’t…” He paused. Folded his lips and then pressed his brow against Steve’s chest to snuggle against him. “You haven’t laughed like that in… I just… Steve…” Bucky’s arms slid around his waist and squeezed. “I missed that laugh.”

Nestling his cheek against the softness of Bucky’s hair, Steve breathed out contently. He still jumped when something was too loud and still shook at an unexpected touch. Strange, that one. Steve missed touches enough that it ached right down to his bones and loved so much having Bucky’s gentle hands to be the ones to replace the rough, cruel ones of mean memories, but he still started when he wasn’t expecting it. Shied away and took a fear clenching heartbeat or two to realize there was no danger. No one there to poke or prod or strap or bring him to a room that he’d rather ban to the further corner of his brain than ever visit again.

He was having trouble talking about what went on, but with Bucky’s patient and loving ears, he was beginning to put horrible memories into words. 

Still, Steve found himself smiling that evening, standing there in the front hall with his husband pressed against him. An apology sat upon his lips, but he thought Bucky wouldn’t like that any more than Steve wanted him blaming himself what happened. 

Instead, Steve said, “Will you dance with me tonight, my Sweetheart?” Bucky looked up at him and grinned. “We can stay as long as you like. But first you must give your headship a kiss. And not mind very much when I step on your feet. Well? What are you waiting for, Bucky? I believe I gave you an order as your headship.” 

Bucky blinked at him, stunned into another laugh and slipped his hand over his mouth to hold it in as the tip of his brow bumped Steve’s shoulder.

“ _Oh_.” He let out silly giggle and peeked back up, tilting his head just enough that only the corner of his right eye was showing. Sparkling. “You… oh, husband…”

He threw his arms around Steve’s neck then and planted that kiss. Wiped a few tears away when he backed up. Thoughts circled around in his head. Steve could see them, one by one, coming and going like puffs of dandelion fuzz swirling in the wind. 

“I love you, Bucky.” It was the only answer to those unspoken thoughts that Steve could give at the time. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’ll be okay. And we’re gonna dance the night away. Okay?”

Bucky gathered Steve’s hands in his. Held them close to his chest before kissing Steve’s knuckles. 

“Yes, okay.” Bucky smiled a little more as Steve tucked those few playful strands of hair behind his ear. “And yes, I’ll dance with you, husband. All night long if you care to. Even if there’s no music. Under the stars. I’m going to take care of you, Steve. Whether you want me to or not.” 

Chuckling, Steve offered Bucky his arm to escort him out for the evening. Where they did, indeed, dance all night long. Even with no music. Even under the stars.

***

By the time the leaves are a blaze of colors on the trees in the park across the street, things begin to settle down. There are no longer reporters always right outside the door. Photographers waiting to snap a shot of Lord Rogers or Lord Barnes or both coming or going. Newspapers are finding new things to report on -- like the announcement of Lord Wilson and Lady Hill’s engagement. Steve practically screeched when they came for tea and shared the news before it was printed in the papers. 

Life, as it does, slowly moves on. 

Steve is working again. It feels good to feel needed. Useful. Though there are still some dissatisfied voices -- voices that speak out and will probably never truly be silent -- the city has not fallen apart. His role in the Judiciary Bureau has shifted, but it’s also still the same. It hasn’t been easy, but no one ever said it would be, and the difficult makes it all worth it. 

A young man from the House of Murdock, who lost his sight as a child, has been given a position in the Judiciary Bureau. The House of Lopez has made an official announcement that their daughter, Maya, who has always been well known among High Society as exceptionally intelligent and gifted, was born deaf and they are no longer going to hide it. Charles of the House of Xavier, recently engaged to a man _below_ Society after his House officially called off the arrangement for him to be married up in order to secure his station, has been talking about starting a school for the arts. 

This is still just the beginning. Other cities question whether or not such a radical new system will ever work as their Courts weigh their options. Steve has been asked to come speak to other Courts on behalf of those wishing to also implement the Tolerance and Acceptance Act. He’s gone. So far, in the five places he’s visited, three have chosen to pass it. 

It’s good. Moving along. A few setbacks here and there. People not willing to accept that changes are being made and sticking to their backwards thinking -- how can a man who has no sight possibly represent the laws of the city and country? It still leaves Steve baffled that people can think in such a way, but he’s trying. And… he’s actually glad to. For every cold heart who denies a person’s rights there’s another that Steve sees warmed. Happy for a chance to do things differently.

Setbacks have happened at home. Sometimes Steve will close off and block his husband out and sometimes Bucky will lose his patience and try to break through those walls. They’ll bicker and even fight, but, no matter what, they make up. The tension can only last for so long until it gives and they find a way to work through it. Always finding their way back to one another.

Yes, setbacks have happened, but so have great leaps forward. Like the afternoon Bucky had come home from work with a small parcel. Came straight up to Steve’s office. Bright smile on his face.

“I have something for you, husband.”

Steve looked up and grinned. “That’s usually my line.” 

Mouth dropping open, Bucky snapped it closed again as a blush deepened his cheeks. 

“True.” He laughed and came into the room, a slight skip to his step. Happy, Steve thought. He looked happy. “I do enjoy it when you spoil me, husband. But, there are no laws stating that a spouse can’t bring a gift to their headship, is there?”

No, there wasn’t. Still isn’t. Laws in such matters haven’t changed much. Steve is still very much Bucky’s headship and traditions still give some outline to their marriage. But they’re setting a precedent, that much is clear. They’re making tradition fit their marriage, not their marriage fit tradition. People are finding fewer and fewer reasons to try to pick them apart for it. 

“I suppose not.” Steve closed the file he’d been going over and smiled. Bucky looked happy. And Steve felt happy. “Out with it then. What have you got for me?”

Snickering, Bucky opened the small package he had and told Steve to open his palm and close his eyes. 

“Indulge me, then,” Bucky grumbled when Steve flicked his eyes up to him at that last request. “Spoil me a little.”

Steve held in a smile, said, “Whenever I can,” and closed his eyes, holding out his hand for him. 

What he felt fall into it made his eyes fly open though he hardly needed sight to know what it was. Steve was holding his wedding ring. Taken so many months ago and, though he’d wanted badly to get it back, he’d never even made mention of it. 

Having it back in his possession, holding it between his fingers once again, was like being reunited with a piece of him he didn’t realize how much he needed. A heartbeat pulsing in his grasp. It’s just a piece of metal, really. Made no difference in the world that he and Bucky built for themselves. Ring or no ring they had given each other their hearts. 

But that didn’t change just how much Steve wanted it back and he closed his hand around it so tight his arm shook. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s concerned voice rose softly over the pulse beating in Steve’s ears. “Husband? Are you-- I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t… mean to upset you. I just thought you’d… want it back. You don’t have to wear it, of course.” Bucky had taken to turning his own wedding band. Both a nervous twitch and a self comfort. “Here, I’ll get rid of--”

“Where did you get this?” Steve whispered, pulling the ring away from Bucky’s reach before he could steal it away from him. “They took it. At the… at…”

“I know,” Bucky said. Didn’t make Steve say where, the word curdling on his tongue. “I asked Claire for it. It took some time because--”

“Who’s Claire?” 

Bucky looked at him as though the question was strange. Like Steve not knowing this Claire person was something that confused him. But, for the life of him, Steve couldn’t recall having ever met someone named Claire, let alone someone who’d be able to getting his wedding band back for him.

“The… Claire is the nurse, Steve,” Bucky explained slowly, as if realizing he was now treading into waters deeper than they ever had on the subject of what Steve had been through. “Claire Temple? From the…” He said the word softly, like if it came out too harshly he’d crack whatever fragile shield Steve carefully held in front of himself. “From the Institute. She’s the one who told your father and I about Pierce.” 

They threw his and Rumlow’s names around like nothing. They meant nothing. Were nothing. Just two pieces of this horrible tale that were rotting prison. No one in good company brought them up. Two men destined to have their names forever shamed. 

“I don’t… I never met her,” Steve muttered, his fingers tracing the outside of his ring like he just didn’t know what to do with it.

“No?” Bucky eased closer and gently rested his hand over Steve’s. “She said she read to you.” 

Steve gasped. Stared up at Bucky, shocked at what he’d said. “That was… she was… _real_?”

He’d been so sure that he’d made her up. That no one so kind and sweet would ever be allowed access to him while he was in there. Steve thought his mind conjured her up. Just a warm voice to get him through the impossible nightmare. Or, on the worst days, he wondered if she was an angel sent by his mother. 

“Yes, Steve,” Bucky assured him. “She’s very real.”

Steve knew that at some point he was going to meet her. Claire. The nurse who helped helped him steer through a dark nightmare. On one hand, he’d be honored. To meet a real life angel would be nothing short of a miracle. He’d get the chance to thank her for all she’d done. On the other, a part of Steve was hoping to turn away and never have to look back. 

He already knew that was impossible. As soon as he agreed to take on the responsibility of the Tolerance and Acceptance Act, he knew soon or later he’d have to face the practices and policies of the Institutes. At least now, he had something warm to look forward to to go along with it. 

“Steve?” Bucky murmured. “Do you… want the ring? Or did you…” 

He struggled a bit. Hurt skittering along the corners of his mouth, turned down in an unhappy frown. A look Steve hadn’t meant to put there. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered. “Yes. Of course, I do. Thank you, Bucky. Thank you so much for this. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.” 

“So then…” A twitch of a smile flickered on his lips. Not too much. Fearful to get ahead too soon. “You want it? You like it?”

“Come here, my Sweetheart.” Steve took hold of Bucky’s wrist and eased him onto his lap. He kissed his temple and brought his head down to rest on his shoulder. Closeness. The ease and comfort of being together. That was what Steve needed most. “I love it. I couldn’t love it more even if you were proposing.” 

“Mm.” He nuzzled his nose a bit into Steve’s neck. “Well…” Bucky flicked his fingers and held his hand out. Steve was a bit reluctant, but it was a fleeting emotion -- Bucky wasn’t going to keep the ring from him -- and he dropped it into his hand. “I love you, Steve.” 

He pressed a kiss to Steve’s nose. And then stunned Steve into a sloppy, tearful grin when he slipped off his lap and got down onto one knee, holding Steve’s ring up between two fingers.

“I vow to you, my love,” Bucky said, “that I will take care of you, even when you think you don’t need me to, the most then, probably. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you again, Steve. You have my word.” He opened his left hand for Steve’s and, speechless, heart singing and twirling, Steve placed his in Bucky’s. “You’re my everything Steve. Will you keep being my husband?”

Steve needed to wipe his fingers across his eyes to keep silly, warm tears from falling free, and even then he couldn’t say anything. All he could do was nod and sniffle and hold back the urge to pull Bucky back onto his lap too soon. Before he could do that, Bucky took hold of his hand and with calm, confident, and steady fingers, slid Steve’s wedding band back into place. 

It might be a slow moving process, but moving is all that matters to Steve. He’s not just sitting still. Not rotting away. Steve’s picked up the pieces that were scattered at his feet and -- with the help of his loving, diligent, and faithful husband, who he loves more and more everyday, a feat he didn’t even think possible -- he’s putting those pieces back together. 

Maybe some parts of him will always be rough and jagged. Maybe nothing he does will ever rid him of the ugly cracks, no matter how hard he tries to hide them. Maybe once upon a time it would have mattered to him. It doesn’t now. Steve has faith in the world, or, in people. The world might not be perfect, but the people of it, so far, have not let him down. Maybe it’s time Steve start really believing in himself. 

Tomorrow, though, tomorrow Steve’s going back somewhere he never thought he’d want to set foot in again. And his mind is not letting him forget it.

“Bucky?” Steve shoots up in bed. Confused when he reaches for his husband and finds only empty sheets bunched up in his hand. 

He breathes out softly. No need for the alarm that rushes through him. It’s been nearly five months and they’ve been married for a little over a year now and Bucky’s not just going to leave in the middle of the night. 

Steve glances at the light trickling in from the half-open door. Still left that way after all this time to help ease him to sleep and chase away childish fears. The light smiles for him. Reminds him it’s there and then, as if knowing why fear skitters along Steve’s bones, might call for his husband, since Bucky appears in the doorway just seconds later. 

“Oh.” Bucky starts when he sees Steve awake. Stumbles a little on his way back into the room. “I’m sorry, Steve. Were you awake long?”

Shoving the sudden rush of panic back down, Steve shakes his head and straightens up. 

“Just a minute or two.” No need to share anything more. “Were you out smoking?”

A patient smile curves up on Bucky’s lips. 

“No, husband.” He lifts the tray that he’s holding. The tray that Steve hadn’t even noticed. “I brought you some tea and cookies.” 

“You did?” The fact that he did is already clear by the tray with tea and cookies he’s holding. What Steve doesn’t understand is the reason. “Why?”

The smile on Bucky’s mouth fades a little. He shakes his head, at himself, Steve thinks, and comes to the bed with the tray. Before answering, he puts it over Steve’s lap for him. 

“You were tossing and turning,” he explains. “I should’ve woken you first. I just thought it’d be nice if you had something warm and tasty for your belly.”

When Steve glances up from the tray across his lap, the coffee and tea that Bucky had gone down in the middle of the night to get just for him, his husband folds in a smile and sighs. 

“I suppose it was a silly idea.”

“No,” Steve says. “It was a perfect idea. I’m probably not going to get much sleep now anyway. Why don’t you join me?” He pulls back the covers. “Come on.”

Smiling, Bucky does as requested and scoots close enough to Steve that their legs are pressed together. As soon as he’s settled next him, Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder as Steve picks up the cup of tea. 

They’re quiet for some time, simply content to be in each other’s company. While they sit together, with Steve sipping his tea and both of them nibbling on the cookies, Bucky fingers take to tapping gently along Steve’s arm. An absent motion. Fingers moving here while mind takes him elsewhere.

Downstairs to the piano, probably. _His_ piano, as they now refer to it, since Bucky spends time at it nearly every day. He’s composing again. More frequently now. Steve’s father was able to get ahold of the music sheets that Pierce had stolen from Bucky. Steve can spend hours watching Bucky lost in the notes and melodies and rhythms. All pieces of Bucky’s world he’d never been allowed to fully submerge himself in before. 

It’s amazing, really. Brilliant. Almost as though being transported to another world. A world that’s all Bucky’s. Where every sound and breath and touch belongs to him. 

Steve often wonders if that’s why Bucky enjoys watching him down in his studio. Put back in working order, though, not much more than a few splashes of color here or there have really brightened the room as of late. Sketches, yes. Steve’s been filling notebooks with the images that haunt his mind. Nothing too much more than that. 

People have wondered about Steve and Captain. Lady Gray, the curator of the Isle’s museum, even phoned not that long ago asking, politely, if the Lord Rogers thought he might want to give Captain another exhibit. 

Maybe. 

One day.

Not yet. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

Bucky’s statement is delivered softly. Carefully even, and Steve knows why. His husband isn’t happy about Steve’s decision and what he doing tomorrow. It’s nice, having Bucky so comfortable that he’s so easily voices his displeasure. So much has happened in their first year of marriage and yet it seems to have gone by in the blink of an eye. 

“Yes.” Steve sighs. “I do.”

“Someone else can go,” he suggests. “Bruce or your dad.” Bucky huffs quietly, as if he knows that Steve is just going to argue again. “Why does it have to be you?” 

“Because…” He puts down his cup of tea, listening to the little song it plays when becoming reaquainted with its saucer friend. “It’s my responsibility to make sure that things are running smoothly. Besides, I should meet the new director anyway.” 

Bucky scoffs. “We can have her over, you know. That would be just as acceptable.” 

“I’m going, Bucky,” Steve says. “I have to do this. I’ll be okay.” In truth, Steve isn’t sure about that. But that isn’t going to change his mind. “I have my father and Truvie and the most amazing friends and… you. I have you, Bucky.” Shaking his head, Steve pecks a kiss to Bucky’s nose. “I might… not like the dark and I still don’t want to wake up alone and maybe sometimes I startle easily…”

“Nightmares,” Bucky whispers. “You have nightmares.”

Steve flushes. He is still having the nightmares, but they’re not nearly as bad as they once were. 

“If I face the monster,” he muses. “Then perhaps that nightmares will go away.” 

It’s silent for a few minutes as Bucky stares straight ahead. Until, with a huff and a scowl, he snatches the last cookie off the plate and then gets out of bed. Now that the plate is empty and Steve has finished his tea, Bucky removes the tray from the bed and shoves it on the settee in front of the bed. He stands there for a moment before glancing over his shoulder at Steve with a glower on his face. Bucky sighs and then gets back into bed, this time surprising Steve a little when he gets in on his designated side. 

“You are very irritating,” he says as he climbs into Steve’s lap. Makes himself comfortable and cuddles up with him. “Do you know that, husband?”

Steve chuckles and shifts to allow for Bucky’s weight and the new position. Wraps him in his arms and kisses the top of his head. 

“Just as long as you let me irritate you for the rest of our lives.” 

“Mm.” A smile inches its way on his face. Like Bucky just can’t help it, even if he tries to fight it. “I suppose I no longer have a choice. You made me fall too deeply in love with you.” 

“Oh, well…” Steve can’t ignore the flutter to his heart. Hummingbird wings that take him from flower to flower. “I would apologize, only I’m not sorry at all.”

The noise Bucky makes next falls somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He tilts his head just enough to kiss Steve’s chin.

“Try to get some sleep, husband? If you’re going to do this, at least be rested. Please?” 

It’s easier to fall back to steep with Bucky tucked in his arms. Even if the positions aren’t the most comfortable, it makes him happy. Makes him feel safe and needed, and Steve drifts back to sleep with a smile on his face. 

 

Steve’s heart pounds as the carriage moves them closer and closer to the Institute -- the one place he never thought he’d go back to willingly. He’s certainly grateful that Bucky convinced him to allow him to go along. 

They haven’t talked much since boarding the train together, though Bucky’s stayed right by his side the whole time. A constant presence. Comfort, when Steve needs it more than ever. 

He closes his eyes when they come to a stop. The last time he made this journey, he’d been sedated. Steve hadn’t seen any of it. And now he’s at the brink of proving that the strange, twisted path that plays out in his mind is just a fabrication of some demon and not truth at all. 

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs when Steve goes on not saying or doing anything. “If you’re not up for--”

“I’m ready.” Steve opens his eyes. “Let’s go.” 

Turns out, it is just a cast iron gate and a dirt path and grass. There’re large hedges and flowers and trees -- all giving way to the cooler weather that tickles across the earth with sneaky fingers. The clear blue sky paints a beautifully serene picture behind the huge mansion of a place they walk towards. 

Steve’s palms are sweating and the glands in his throat are swollen, but he marches on, hand-in-hand with his husband for added strength, and when they reach the doors they’re greeted by the angel Steve had believed to be a figment of his imagination. 

“Lord Rogers, Lord Barnes,” Claire says. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again, this time under much nicer--”

But Steve can’t even let her finish with her greeting. He’s tossing his arms around her. It’s not something he should be doing, he’s sure, but Steve just can’t help himself. He needs to hug this woman. 

“Oh.” She sounds shocked, but doesn’t pull back or push him away. Claire even hugs him back. “Hello, Lord Rogers.”

There’s a hand on his back. Rubs gently up and down, calming and reassuring. Bucky, always there when Steve doesn’t even realize he needs him most. 

“Forgive me,” Steve whispers as he moves away. Takes a second to rub the moisture from his eyes. “I just…” He takes in a deep breath. “I owe you so much, Miss Temple, I don’t even know where to begin.”

But she simply holds her palm up and stops him right there. “My job is to help people. What was going on here, wasn’t right. All I could do was give some sort of hope and comfort to those who needed it most. And besides…” She gestures for them follow her. “Because of you, we and other Institutes are rid of people like Dr. Faustus and staff who thought like him.” They’re walking through the front parlor. Bright and sunny. Filled with people visiting and quiet conversations. “We’re now using more of the talk therapy that the new head doctor employs.”

The new doctor, Dr. Helen Cho, along with Claire and the rest of the approved staff, are also using many of Sarah’s suggestions. Even those that had been made at Steve and Bucky’s dinner party. In fact, if Steve thinks about it, his mother may have made the suggestions because Bucky had in the first place. 

Patients are tending to the gardens and learning to cook. They’re doing arts and crafts and sewing. Reading to each other and themselves. Even taking dance lessons. Things to make people smile and have fun and, if they need to, relax. 

Bruce and Betty have been working with Dr. Cho to create a new medication to help those who might actually need it. And not one that will simply sedate someone, but rather help in the same way Steve’s medicines help him. 

“And you, Miss Temple?” Steve asks as they walk through the back gardens. “You’re--”

“Claire, please.”

“Right.” Steve smiles. “Claire. You’re doing well? As the Head Director of this Institute?” 

She laughs, a mix of amusement and dark humor. “It’s a chore, I’ll tell you that. But it’s worth it. Seeing the changes around here are pretty amazing. I’ve changed my shifts though, starting next week, that way I can still work one on one with the patients. Sometimes nights around here are when people need the company most.”

That’s not something Steve needs reminding of, even if he spent so many nights unaware and drugged. Any bit of company with someone with compassion goes a long way. 

“So,” Bucky asks. “You’re the night nurse, too?”

Claire grins and shrugs. Goes on to say someone has to do it and she certainly doesn’t mind. 

It’s hard walking through the place. Steve holds his breath a lot, waiting for something horrible to jump around each corner they reach. Dr. Faustus or the nurse with the brogue ready to mock and taunting him for his foolish delusions that he ever even left here in the first place. 

But as Claire shows them how rooms have been redone and that other areas have been closed off -- many places that Steve can remember when he wishes he couldn’t are no longer being used -- he slowly starts breathing normally. Even the rooms where Steve was kept are not accessible. 

“You can go see, if you’d like,” Claire offers. “But there are no patients there any longer.”

The rooms they’re in now no longer resemble prison cells. They’re more comfortable now. Each with a window to let in light and proper bedding on the bed and even personal belongings are allowed. 

Steve chooses not to see the room. Maybe he will, someday, if he feels the need. But that day is not today, and, after spending an entire afternoon with Claire -- happy and pleased with the new procedures and hoping it goes on this way -- Steve takes one glance at the Institute as the carriage pulls away from it. When he turns back around, he puts an arm over Bucky’s shoulders and tugs him in close. 

“Are you okay, Steve?” he asks. Serious. Bucky might do anything right now to make sure that he’s feeling okay. 

All Steve can do right now is smile. He’s not quite sure what he feels at the moment, other than wanting to hold Bucky close and that, as they get further and further from the Institute, he knows it’s finally going to become a part of his past. 

They don’t have to wait long for the train. Which is good. Steve is ready to be back at home. Once again, like the trip there, the trip back is quiet. Steve isn’t up for much talking and Bucky isn’t pushing for conversation. He will, if he thinks Steve should say something, but not now. 

“I’m tired,” Steve whispers when they get to their car. “Would you mind very much if I laid down, Bucky?” 

Bucky’s hands are at his shoulders before Steve even finishes that. Thumbs rubbing into tired and achy muscles. Steve’s head drops forward with a soft moan floating between his lips. There’re lips at the back of his neck, pressing a gentle kiss.

“Sleep, husband,” Bucky whispers. Guides him down so that Steve’s head is resting on his lap. “I’ll wake you when it’s our stop.”

Steve means to say he already knows he will, but he drifts away with Bucky’s hands running softly through his hair before he even has the chance to realize he’s falling asleep. 

He sleeps the whole way back to the Isle and when he wakes, it’s with a freeing, refreshing sort of stretch. A smile pulls up on his lips when he notices his head is still resting in Bucky’s lap. 

“Hello,” Bucky greets. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” Steve nods. “You didn’t move?”

“ _You_ didn’t move,” he says. “I haven’t seen you sleep so still since…” He doesn’t need to finish that. “Well… I wasn’t going to disturb you.” 

Sitting up, Steve chuckles and gets to his feet. Bucky is grinning at him, pleased, Steve thinks, with the sudden jubilant kick to his movements. But it feels right. And that’s nice. 

“Come on, my Sweetheart. Stiles will be waiting for us. And Truvie will have supper ready.” He kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose when he pulls him to his feet. “And I think I’ll kiss every inch of your body tonight.” 

He feathers a kiss behind Bucky’s ear. Lips still in the same spot, Steve also mentions having Bucky make all those lovely noises he loves to hear. And having him squirm beneath him and making his toes curl. 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky exclaims through clenched teeth. He gives Steve a playful slap while a blush runs across his nose. “People might _hear_ you!”

Not likely, but a legitimate worry. The door to their car _is_ open and people are walking through the hall as they exit the train. Still, Steve laughs and holds his palm up in surrender. 

“Okay, okay,” he says. “If you don’t _want_ any of that, we don’t need to engage in such activities.”

That blush on Bucky’s face now spreads to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t say I didn’t… _want_ it,” he admits. “Just…” He snorts at Steve when Steve flicks his eyebrows up. “You have to get me home first _anyway_ , you know.”

“Oh, am I delaying us?” Steve shakes his head. “Forgive me and allow me to remedy the situation.” He holds his arm out for him. “May I?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless and coils his arm with Steve’s. “You’re too much, Steve. And I love you.” He surprises Steve with a quick peck to his lips. Leaves him a bit tongue-tied and pink cheeked. “And I still have my own tricks, husband. Didn’t you say something about getting me home?”

Oh, how Steve loves this man. This man who’s so brave and witty. Who keeps him on his toes and yet makes him more relaxed than anyone. 

It’s all Steve can think about as Stiles drives them home. Even after going back to the Institute today and with a little bit of chatting with his husband himself, all Steve can think about is how much he loves Bucky. How one minute Bucky could barely get a few words past the scowl on his lips and the next he was confessing his love. And so many wonderful words in between and after and to come. 

“You know,” Bucky says as Stile opens the door for them. It’s drizzling out. Crystal drops of water that fall from the dark skies and splatter onto the ground. “My father and I used to go fishing.” 

Steve, already opening the front gate, freezes. The air in his lungs even stops for a second before moving quicker. Bucky’s never brought up his father unprompted like this before. 

“You… did?” It’s all Steve can think to say.

“Yes.” He gives him a tiny smile. Like he knows, as well as Steve, that this means something more than just what he has to say. “A few times a year. Even if it rained on a day we planned, Father would take me anyway.” Some tears touch the corners of his eyes, but Bucky does nothing to disturb them. “Mother didn’t approve but, well, she wasn’t one to argue with her headship. So we went fishing. Together. I didn’t have the stomach for baiting the hooks, so he alway did it for me. I didn’t like taking the fish _off_ the hooks either. In fact…” Bucky chuckles lightly and one of those tears crawls down his cheek. “There wasn’t much I liked about fishing at all.”

“But you went,” Steve assumes. 

Bucky nods. “I went. It wasn’t the fishing I enjoyed.” 

Sure, Steve understands. The company. Something for father and son to just do together. It was something just for them. Like Frankenstein with his own mother, Steve can understand the special bond such a simple thing can create. A pang touches at his heart when he thinks about Sarah, but he feels her everyday. In all the work he’s been doing. Seeing that her dreams -- _their_ dreams -- come true. 

“You never…” Steve clears his throat. “You never told me that. You don’t… really talk about--”

“I know,” Bucky interrupts. They’re still standing there, outside. Raindrops scatter across them. Drip into their clothes and hair. Steve has a feeling that Bucky’s been looking for the right moment for this and found the courage for it right here and now. “You took me there with you today, Steve, and I…” He needs a second. Bucky closes his eyes and takes Steve’s hands before opening them again, though the tears are still swimming through them. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you. You’ve given me so much and I… Steve, I want to give you _all_ of me.”

One breath collides with the next and Steve touches his hand to the side of Bucky’s face. 

“I’d be honored to have all of you, Bucky,” he murmurs. “Every piece you want to give me.” 

“Everything, Steve,” Bucky says. “I’m going to give you everything. I love you.” 

A smile breaks across Steve’s face and he acts before he can really think. They’ve done this once before. Already a year ago. Maybe they’ll make it a tradition. Even if Bucky gasps and squeaks when Steve scoops him off his feet to cradle him in his arms. His husband claps his hands behind Steve’s neck and looks around, stunned and surprised, before looking upon Steve’s smiling face and falling into a round of happy giggles. 

“I love you, too, Bucky.” 

Bucky grins and leans in to catch Steve’s lips. Kisses him as Steve carries him up the front steps and crosses the threshold into their warm, loving home. They’re still kissing, still giggling in their tangled mess of limbs, as the door shuts softly behind them. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And okay because I'm a big fan of closure, I hope that provides some for anyone hoping to see how Steve and Bucky start to move on from all that. Thank you so much for reading. Just the epilogue left to be posted. I really hope you enjoyed!
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> Oh and some gifs for some added fun:
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> Starting with Bucky some time when they first get home 
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> Right after he "proposes" 
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> And the night before he and Steve go to the Institute together 
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> And then Steve when he first gets home and isn't doing the greatest
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> When he's starting to talk and open up to Bucky 
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> And then literally any time Bucky does something that makes him feel safe and loved and that everything will be okay 
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> And that's it. Just the epilogue to go and this fic is finally 100% done!


	36. Because America is About to be Destroyed and it was Requested I Present to you The Epilogue

“Please, don’t make me do this.”

Bucky grins. Glances from his reflection in the full-length mirror as he adjusts his bowtie, to his husband’s, who standing meekly in the doorway. All spiffed up in his that modern suit -- sleeves of his striped button down rolled halfway up his arms and dark gray vest snug around his body. Clean-shaven and hair trimmed shorter than Bucky’s ever seen, probably for the summer months. Once again, Teresa’s done him up in such a way that Bucky’s left breathless. Somehow, Steve’s beauty strikes him all over again. 

“Wow,” he breathes. “You’re so beautiful.” 

A blush fills Steve’s face, pink tickling his cheeks and rising up to the tips of his ears. Chuckling at his adorable husband, Bucky moves away from the mirror and crosses the room.

Lazy, summer sunbeams scatter through it. Deep gold cones of illumination make the private back rooms of the museum glow brightly. The room -- open and airy -- laughs giddily, pleased with this evening’s company. It welcomes Steve, as it did Bucky when he first came in -- the friendly furniture glad to offer its support should it be needed. 

There’s a bowl of fruit on the small end table and Bucky plucks the one red apple out of it. Tosses it to Steve on his way over. Steve, a bit startled by the fruit headed towards him, jerks slightly, but catches it without a problem. 

“Are you nervous, husband?” Bucky asks. In front of Steve now where he plants a kiss to Steve’s lips right as he goes to answer, pleased that, even after almost two years of marriage, he can still surprise his husband into a silly grin like that. “You’ve done this before.”

“I…” The flush that Bucky’s kiss brought on still hasn’t faded. Steve tries to rein in his grin, folding his lips in an attempt to regain control of himself. “Mm.” He chuckles. “I haven’t. Captain did.”

“You and Captain were one in the same, if you recall,” Bucky reminds him. 

Steve sighs and rests his brow against Bucky’s. His eyes are closed, hands at Bucky’s waist, and he brings him in closer. Once he’s pulled Bucky near enough, Steve pecks the very tip of his nose. A smile, delighted and blissful, tugs the corners of Bucky’s mouth when he does it again. 

“Everyone will be looking at me,” Steve murmurs. Bucky can tell he’s turning the apple over in his hands. Nervously needing to do something with them. “Don’t make me do this.”

Eyes full of worry when he opens them, the pinch between them gets deeper. Bucky skims fingers over Steve’s cheek.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t do this, Steve,” he says. Knows it’s true. After all that’s happened, all Steve’s been through and fought for and almost gave up everything for, there’s no way Bucky will allow him not to go through with tonight. Just like Steve wouldn’t if it was him. “You’ll be okay.”

Steve’s lips set in a line, and Bucky can almost hear the thoughts running through his head. Maybe even a brief consideration of pulling rank as headship. Fleeting though. The idea disappears as he sighs and takes a bite of the apple. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

His disbelief isn’t truly for himself, but the ability to do it. Tonight is his very first exhibit done as himself. Not Captain. Not someone hidden deep within the shadows of Society’s shameful secrets. Just him. Lord Steven Rogers -- distinguished member of the Judiciary Bureau, has a seat in Parliament, is headship and husband to Lord James Barnes, and now, publicly, an artist.

Bucky couldn’t be prouder. 

Pulling his pocket watch from the pocket of his tuxedo vest, Bucky checks the time. A little over an hour to go. He snaps the watch closed and slips it back into his pocket. 

“Well, then, husband,” Bucky drawls, tugging lightly on the belt loops of Steve’s trousers. “If you’re so nervous, I shall just have to find ways to _distract_ you until we’re needed.”

He draws Steve in for a kiss then. Lazy and sensual, his hip rolling against Steve’s while his hands sneak under his vest.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, a small sound getting caught in his throat when Bucky gives him a light nip to the side of his neck. “We… shouldn’t…” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “I mean… we’re dressed…”

“I only need to lower your trousers,” Bucky suggests. Voice low and heated, the fire in his belly growing hotter by the second. “And I can do that thing with my tongue you love so much.” 

Steve’s mouth drops open, a soft whimper feathering across his lips. His eyes fall closed and he hums softly. 

“This is very tempting, my Sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

“Are you saying no?”

“As your headship? Yes.” He drops the apple, with only one bite taken from it, to the floor. “As your husband…”

Steve slams his lips against Bucky’s mouth, shocking a gasp out of him as he practically shoves him back into the room. A giddy laugh rocks through Bucky’s body as Steve pushes him up against the wall. It’s too bad an hour is all they have. 

 

Evening slides in around them, quietly. A tiptoe of lavender shadows and warm glows that don’t wish to disturb the peaceful room where Bucky and Steve share an armchair. It’s a tight fit, but if Steve doesn’t mind, Bucky surely doesn’t either as he rests with his head against his husband’s chest. Feels the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. Hears the soft drumming of his heart. A song for Bucky. Beat beat, beat beat. Bucky’s left fingers, right across Steve’s ribs, play a silent melody of their own. A song for them. 

Maybe one he’ll compose when they get home tonight. Or, tomorrow rather, since tonight promises bellies full of rich treats and heads swimming with champagne. A bed waiting for them for a repeat and grander performance than the deeds he and his husband did here. Because he can now. Bucky can go home and compose a song for his husband and allow the whole world to hear it. If he ever wanted, that is. Right now, Bucky is much more interested, and very content, in creating melodies just for Steve. The rest of the world will just have to wait. 

Sure, there are those who cling to tradition, and plenty of them, that turn their noses up at such things. Even this full year later, and without a complete and utter collapse of Society and Its ways, there are traditionalists who wait for such things. 

Not in his House. His House invites his family to tea and supper -- Bucky sees his mother and sister every few weeks now. His House not only allows, but encourages him to visit with his friends -- once a month, Bucky, Natalia, Clint, and Maria meet at a restaurant on the Isle for food and drinks and even, occasionally, dancing. Usually, on that night, Steve does the same with Sam, Peggy, and Tony, sans the dancing, for Steve anyway. His House has fully supported his decision to further his education and pursue a career as a medical physician for the Military Bureau -- because now that the Tolerance and Acceptance Act, _Sarah’s Laws_ as many affectionately call it, no one can legally deny Bucky that right due to his arm. 

So much has changed and the world has not fallen apart. The Tolerance and Acceptance Act has been passed and implemented by the Official Court of New York State. Other places across the country have adapted it into their running laws and there’s even been talks of the Supreme High Court overseeing a case for passing it across the whole country. Bucky won’t be surprised to see it happen one day. 

Steve’s arm, tucked loosely around Bucky’s waist, hugs him closer, and Steve breathes another kiss to Bucky’s hair. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers. “Thank you for making me do this.” 

“I would hardly say I _made_ you do anything, Steve.” He adjusts his gaze so that it holds his husband’s. “Making love isn’t exactly what I’d call a chore.”

Steve scoffs and Bucky makes something of a yelping noise when fingers dig into his sides, effectively ending his silent symphony across Steve’s ribs. 

“You just _have_ to be a smart ass, don’t you?” Steve teases and doesn’t yet let up on his tickling. “What am I going to do with you, my Sweetheart?”

Answer coming out between clenched teeth and amid giggles and squirms, Bucky says, “Nothing. You just said you loved me.”

“Hm.” Lips curling in thought, Steve narrows playful eyes at him. “I might have to reevaluate.” 

His tickling gets worse then. Enough that Bucky just can't hold in the bark of laughter that rolls through his chest. They end up sliding off the armchair together, even rolling over once when landing on the floor, the rug happy to add comfort to their playful antics. 

“No, no!” Bucky laughs with Steve, who has now taken to tickling both his sides, hovered over him. “I’m sorry! Husband, I’m sorry!”

“You _know_ ,” Steve murmurs, stilling his hands but leaving one in that sensitive spot while lifting the other where it can easily tickle the side of Bucky’s neck. Keeping very still, Bucky peers up at him. “I said _thank you_. As a gentleman of Society, I would think you well-mannered enough to know the appropriate response.”

“You-you’re welcome, Steve,” Bucky squeaks. Tenses and whimpers as Steve’s hand creeps nearer. “ _Oh_ …” He holds in a giggle. “Husband…”

Only Steve doesn’t tickle him. No, this time Steve just gently rests his hand at that treasured spot. Even on his back, Bucky feels his body weakening under Steve’s strong, addictive touch. Bucky leans into it. Nuzzles Steve’s hand. Smiles. 

Steve might go to say something else, Bucky can hear the distinct start of a sentence, but before anything can actually be said, the door opens. 

“We’re just about ready for you, Lord Rog--oh.”

Both Bucky and Steve are scrambling to their feet as Lady Gray comes into the room to find them quickly trying to button their shirts back up though there’s really no hiding what went on in here. Steve’s vest is slung across the desk in the room and Bucky is missing a shoe. 

Lady Gray stops and stares for a breath, turns like she’s going to leave, pauses, looks back with a flush to her cheeks, and then finally backs out of the door again.

“Pardon me,” she mutters, embarrassment more than outrage brushing along her words. “I didn’t mean to… to interrupt.”

“No, no!” Steve insists. “It’s not… what it looks like.” Except that it is. Or was, at least. “We were just… I was assisting my husband with…”

“I should have knocked,” she offers with a trill of an awkward laugh. She’s now on the other side of the door. “I only wanted to tell you that we’re ready for you and Lord Barnes. That is…” She clears her throat. “Whenever you are.” 

“Yes, of course.” Steve is standing by the door now, hands moving for the knob and then curling in like he just doesn’t know what to do with them. Bucky doesn’t mean to laugh, but Steve so flustered is too adorable. “We’ll be…” He must hear Bucky’s laugh and gives him not-very-intimidating glare over the shoulder. “We’ll be right there.” 

Lady Gray says something about meeting them by the front doors and then leaves, probably hurrying to get away where she can either laugh properly or wash her eyes out of after witnessing such a scandalous display of two gentlemen behaving so inappropriately. Bucky, judging by the pull at her mouth and the smothered chuckle, assumes it’s the first. 

Once it’s clear they’re alone again, Steve lets out strained groan, scrubbing hands over his face and then turning another glare at Bucky again as he slips his missing shoe back on. 

“ _You_ are not funny,” he accuses. Which is a funny accusation in and of itself given the grin he says it with.

Bucky simply shrugs him off with another laugh. Fixed up and presentable again -- though he probably should check a mirror to make sure -- he eases on over to Steve, whose shirt is improperly buttoned and one leg of his slacks is bunched up. First fixing those pesky buttons, Bucky crouches down to fix Steve’s pants. Even makes sure his socks are just right. 

“You think I’m funny,” he states. “You’ve said so before.”

A hand brushes lightly over Bucky’s head, careful not to disturb his hair. Bucky glances up into Steve’s sparkling eyes. Gets caught in the warming sunlight that shines down at him. 

“I think you’re incredible,” Steve murmurs. “Tellement incroyable.” 

The French still tickles Bucky’s belly, even if he knows what Steve’s saying sometimes. Pressing a kiss to Steve’s thigh, Bucky stands again. Fetches Steve’s vest from off the desk and helps him back into it. 

“Come on, Steve,” he says, smiles mirroring each other. “Let’s do this.” 

Steve holds his arm out and Bucky, always willing to be close to his husband, takes it. 

“Okay, Bucky,” Steve answers. Adds one last kiss. “Let’s do this.” 

It’s an incredible thing, really, to have Lady Gray announce Lord Steven Rogers as tonight’s guest of honor. To see Joseph pull Steve into a warm hug and tell him how proud he and Sarah are of him. _She’s with you tonight, son. She’s always with you_. To have Steve glowing among his own works of art while people compliment him and thank him and even hug him. If anyone has anything negative to say, they’re comments are not welcome here, and they keep it to themselves. 

The evening is a glimpse of glitz and glamour. For Society and below -- anyone, Steve insisted, can enjoy art. Champagne pours and delicious treats are served. Music plays and Bucky shares a dance with his sister -- who giggles as he twirls her -- and then, a tad reluctantly, hands her off to a young Lord Proctor, a schoolmate of hers, who cuts in for a dance of his own. His mother laughs and tells him such is life when Rebecca goes off without even a glance back at Bucky.

At some point in the evening, Tony decides he's going to buy each and every one of Steve’s paintings, insisting it’s just good business.

“They’ll be worth a fortune one day!” he exclaims with a clumsy twirl of his top hat. “It just makes sense!”

Pepper, placing a loving hand upon his shoulder, asks why Tony can’t just come out and tell Steve that he enjoys his work. Flushing ever so slightly, Tony recovers quickly and simply tells everyone how wise his headship is. Steve laughs, pulls Tony in for a hearty and unexpected hug, and thanks him anyway. 

In the middle of all that’s going on, getting lost in the world Steve’s once again created that’s left Bucky -- and others he’s sure -- breathless and gasping for more -- and all the joy that goes with it, Bucky simply cannot keep his hands off of Natalia’s little bump of a belly. 

“When will I be able to feel the baby?” he asks and even whines when Clint tells him not for another month or so. “Come on, baby,” Bucky pleads, not ashamed at all to bend forward and speak to Talia’s tummy. “Give a little kick, just for your Uncle Bucky.” 

“Okay, okay.” Talia eases him back up by the tip of his ear. “That’s enough pressure on my baby.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Then how about at least one dance? Before you--”

“ _I would be super careful with what you say there_ ,” Clint warns, even though Talia’s pursed lips are accompanied with a twitch of a grin. “ _I doubt very much that a bigger belly will keep her from punching you._ ”

But Natalia dances with him anyway and as they share their twirl across the dancefloor, Steve stays with their friends, chatting away with both mouth and hands now that he’s learned how.

Joining them, just a few minutes later is Sam and Maria, who have just come back from another trip. They’ve been enjoying their the first few months of their marriage traveling. They hosted their dinner party in the traditional month time period and then after that set off together. 

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Maria comments as they head back to the rest of their friends, their loved ones, enjoying the evening. “How much things can change.” 

“I never thought this would happen,” Sam agrees. “That we’d be at an art exhibit and celebrating the artist himself. But…” He chuckles. “If someone was gonna make it possible…”

He trails off there and steals a glimpse at Bucky after smile at Steve, who lights up like morning when he sees Bucky coming back over.

Tonight is the first evening Societal even that Sharon attends with Peggy and Gabe. She stands excitedly, holding herself high and happy in her little evening dress, between her parents until the night wears her down and she ends up asleep in her father’s arms. Mouth cracked open and cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Well, her first foray into Society seems to have been a success,” Steve laughs when Peggy and Gabe come over to say their goodnights. “Did she enjoy herself?” 

“She’ll sleep the night away, that’s for sure,” Gabe replies. “Maybe Peggy and I might have a little _private_ time of our own.”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Peggy gasps, feigning shock and offense. “Dear, we’re in proper company.”

“Proper?” Bucky scoffs and shares a quiet chuckle with his husband. “I don’t know about that.”

It’s impossible not to raise their glasses to such a comment. 

“Well,” Peggy says after a collective share of laughs. “We just wanted to come over and say goodnight.” She kisses Steve’s cheek. “And congratulations.” Peggy rubs her hand over Sharon’s back when she turns her head over on Gabe’s shoulder. “Thank you, Steve. And you, Bucky. You’ve changed her future.” 

They leave a few minutes later, hand in hand, with Sharon tuckered out between them.

No matter where they are during the whole night, whether Steve is with Bucky as he happily bounces from person to person or Bucky sticks with Steve in his comfortable spot among familiar faces and friends, they’re within a glance of each other. Even with everyone all around, they just can’t seem to help stealing time away from the crowd just to be with each other. To share a moment of a glowing evening to shine together with shared tickles and champagne flavored kisses. With Steve feeding Bucky pieces of chocolate that make his taste buds sing and his heart twirl. With Steve stealing secret kisses in private corners, nuzzling his lips against Bucky’s neck and sending golden shimmers down Bucky’s spine. With Bucky happily enduring the occasional slip of Steve’s feet over his own as they dance.

And Bucky is just so incredibly happy.

There will be storms and shaky seas again, he knows. No ship sails smoothly forever and the ocean is as unpredictable as life itself. But it’s okay. Bucky is perfectly content to weather all the storms together with Steve now and forever as he lives in the happily ever after he never thought to ask for. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ALL! Omg I cannot believe this is it. It's over. I... all I can say is thank you. Thank you so so much for sticking with me all this time and all your patience and support and encouragement. I couldn't have done this without you. The fact that all of you have helped make this one of the most popular fics in the fandom just blows my mind. Thank you so very much. 
> 
> I do have more world building fics planned for the future once I get some other things wrapped up ((if anyone's interested in werewolves??)) and I hope some of you will come back around for some wolfie fun! 
> 
> Now, I know I usually end these with gifs but it's election night and I'm sorta on the verge of very bad thoughts and now I really wish I had gone out of my way to make this a lot longer, but I do hope that for anyone needing a pick me up this helped a little. 
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone. As the holidays are right around the corner, happy and safe to you all!! <333
> 
> Also if you'd like, come find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> A place for stucky, marvel, and lots a fun!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Feel free to leave comments. Criticism is always welcome, just people try to keep it constructive and not rude. Saying 'this sucks' doesn't help.
> 
> and just for some visuals: 
> 
> Here's how I imagine Bucky going to the Chapel
> 
> and talking to his mom:
> 
>  
> 
> And here's Steve with his parents:
> 
>  
> 
> and waiting for Bucky:
> 
>  

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fan Art for Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427353) by [Lymmel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymmel/pseuds/Lymmel)
  * [Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts (Traducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103848) by [UmiAzuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmiAzuma/pseuds/UmiAzuma)




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